Angel Unaware
by ButterflyAlley
Summary: Poppie Singer mourned Dean for four hard months. When he's inexplicably pulled from the depths of Hell, strange voices and lost time are only the beginning of her worst nightmare. CastielxOFC
1. Back in the Saddle Again

**Angel Unaware**

 **Summary:**

Poppie and her father mourned Dean four long months, but when he's pulled from the depths of hell with only a hand print shaped scar the hunters are thrust into the search for answers. What will happen when they come face to face with the Angel who pulled him out? And what is this blue light emanating from him?

A sisfic about Bobby Singer's daughter, CasxOFC.

 _ **Chapter One- Back in the Saddle Again**_

 _ **Ridin` the range once more**_

 _ **Totin` my old .44**_

 _ **Where you sleep out every night**_

 _ **And the only law is right**_

 _ **Back in the saddle again**_

 _ **September 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 2008**_

Poppie Singer nervously tweaked the cold metal of the engine. She methodically checked and rechecked her spark plugs, the intake valve, injector and alternator. Her car was fine, but she wasn't. A deep sigh escaped her lips before she gave the car one last glance, willing to find something new to fix. When her search came up fruitless, she carefully removed the prop and clicked the hood down. The car dipped under her weight smoothly as she turned to lean against it and let her eyes sweep lazily over the littered junk yard.

She felt her mind drift back to the night before, or maybe it was early morning. A strong energy had ripped through her chest and pulled her from a deep sleep. It pulled the air from her lungs and sounded like a choir of voices that cut through the silent night and directly into her as she sat upright in darkness. _ **Dean Winchester lives.**_

"Pops?" A gruff voice pierced through the hot afternoon and caused her to snap harshly in its direction. A flash of blond and clank of metal gave way under her fear as her body tensed into the car for leverage. The same deep voice gave a throaty laugh as he approached, "It's just me, Poppie. Really me." His green eyes cruised over her body; tall, leaner then he remembered and wrapped just right in an aged white t-shirt that read 'Singer Salvage' in generously placed red letters. His fingers twitched a little as he fought the urge to just reach out and wrap his arms around her. Her ice blue eyes were wrapped in dark circles, the panic in them broke his weary heart.

"No," The woman who met him practically inch or inch felt her face fall slack at the very sight of him. "The… the voices." Dean stepped toward the woman, his brow creasing.

"What voices?" His eyes were dark with concern and Poppie's stiffened muscles leapt into action, a knife pulled from her pocket as she fought to connect the silver blade to this creature's neck.

"What are you?" She demanded, knocking him into a nearby car where his head landed hard against a dirty window. "I asked. What. Are. You?!" Her face was inches from this... Was it a shapeshifter? A ghoul? They had buried Dean instead of giving him a hunter's funeral. It could be anything and it would be their own damn fault. It even smelled exactly like the Dean she remembered; gun powder and whiskey.

He watched her face and as it twisted and studied his own. It had been decades for him, but she hardly looked any older. Skinnier, more exhausted maybe but, "How long?" She didn't have enough time to respond before another voice pulled her attention to the back porch of her home.

"Poppie Ann!" Bobby echoed against the vast lot of cars. "It's really him!" The sound of her father's voice stopped her dead, but she didn't release the man in her grasp until she saw the red line soaking through an old rag wrapped around his arm.

"Dean?" Her voice was weaker than before and disbelief dripped from her strangled word.

"The one and only." The hunter gave a cocky grin and pushed himself away from the car. Poppie moved her hands to clasp tightly around his arms, her eyes studying the man at arms-length in front of her. She recalled the hundred or so nights she had woken up in a cold sweat, the dreams of him leaching from her vision only as the harsh reality of his death filled it.

"Summer of 95. I saved you from that douche-clown and you confessed your overpowering sexual desire for me." Dean lifted his eyebrows and ran his arm around her waist, pulling her into him and smiling widely at the woman.

She almost didn't dare to move from that position or even blink. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but she was sure this couldn't be real. Dean Winchester was dead, ripped to shreds and dragged to hell four months ago, she had seen it. She helped bury his body. _**Wait a minute, what did he just say?**_ She ripped from his embrace, a sour glare twisting her face. His smile didn't falter.

"Oh, my _fucking_ god, Dean! I was sloshed! It was disgusting, you're disgusting and-"

"Relax, sweetheart. You know it has to be me, right?" He lifted his eyebrow again and Poppie punched him square in the gut. He doubled over as a pained grunt escaped his lips. The young Singer pulled him upright and snaked her arms tightly around his neck in an unexpected turn of emotion. She squeezed him so hard it choked the breath out of him faster than the solid punch she had just administered to his stomach.

He heard a soft, choking sound from his neck and she looked up with tear-filled eyes. "But how?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out." Dean said with unquestionable determination, leading the woman he considered a sister toward the house. "How…" He stopped he wasn't sure how much to say, they couldn't know he remembered. None of them. "How long was I under?" They crossed the threshold of the kitchen; the stale scent of dust, old books and bourbon filled her nose. She looked over him with a sympathetic glance.

"About four months. It's September now. Same year."

"When's the last time you heard from Sammy, Pops?" Dean changed the subject, an edge to his voice that she couldn't miss. They walked the rest of the way into the study, and the older Winchester sat at Bobby's ancient computer.

"Any time we chased him down, he went further underground." It wasn't a lie and she hoped he didn't see through her, "He called last week though. He didn't say where he was, but he mentioned the Grand Canyon at some point. He was drunk, and sloppy." It also wasn't a lie. She pursed her lips and looked up into tense eyes with her own tensions pooling in the pit of her stomach. Her breath released when he seemed to move on.

"You got a phone on you?" Poppie slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and tossed it to him. Her Dad entered the room and handed out a round of beer.

"Crazy, ain't it? These boys just don't stay down." His intention was the lighten the mood, but they only stared at each other in utter disbelief. When Dean began dialing, she dared a look down his body. She had been certain to find some kind of reminder from his departure into Hell, but he looked as good as he had the morning he went under. Maybe better.

With a swimming head, Poppie made her way back into the kitchen, setting her beer onto the table. Her mind was still racing but she couldn't quite figure out how this had happened. Her elbows found the table as she leaned her weight onto them and placed her hands to rub over her temples. They had spent the past four months scouring every book at every library, internet databases and even badgered every hunter they had ever met, but they never came close to getting Dean back. It was impossible.

"We're going to get Sam, stay here and watch the phones." Bobby's weathered face popped into the kitchen doorway and pulled her from her thoughts.

"I'm not staying here." She stood up and started out, her fingers laced around the jagged edges of the car keys before Bobby or Dean had a chance to argue. The blond had made it to the sky blue Buick and started into the driver's seat out of habit when she stole a quick look at Dean from his place on the porch. Guilt racked her stomach as she thought of his four months down under. She tossed the keys at him. "Please don't crash?"

A few moments later, Dean gingerly regained his bearings at the wheel and sped off toward the location the phone operator had given him. Everyone's mind was turning, but no one spoke. Trees whizzed by as Poppie watched out the window from the backseat and passed the time trying to process the ridiculous situation she was in.

Dean died, and yet, here she was in the back seat as he drove them all to Sam. Who had also died. It was easy to figure out Sam's incredible recovery when Dean stalked guiltily back into Bobby's that day. When Lilith had cornered them and sent her hounds to collect Dean, it had seemed so final. Her stomach sunk with the realization that she may have to see another brother dragged into Hell with no way to protect him.

It was only recently she had started to accept the brothers absence as the new normal; the nightmares of Dean's death, waking up to remember he was gone. Poppie and her father had mourned him as their own and tried to live everyday with his wishes in mind. It was why Sam's ]had been so hard on her.

They pulled into an innocuous looking hotel and Poppie was relieved for a change of thought. The motel was nicer than their usual M.O. but Sam had always preferred a little more cushion. It didn't take much for them to bribe the tired receptionist and soon they walked the hallway.

Poppie's worry grew with each step. Dean and Bobby knocked on the door as she stood back a few steps, breath held tight and hand over the hilt of the knife hidden in her waist band.

"So, where is it?" A brunette clad in underwear and a tight undershirt opened the door. Bobby and Dean were silent as they shared a look. A cinderblock locked into Poppie's stomach and her vision blurred.

"Where is what?" Dean asked, leaning in to turn on the charm.

"The pizza it took three people to deliver?" Her sarcasm was thick, but it was the black aura emanating from her that had Poppie on the verge of puking. A black shadow seemed to seep from the half dressed woman. The young hunter rubbed her eyes and looked away, sure it was a trick of flickering hotel lighting and an incoming migraine.

"I think we have the wrong room."

"Dean?" The gigantic form took a step into the door way and froze, his muscles tight and still, ready to pounce at the next sound. Sam looked disheveled, his own body in a state of undress.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said after he took two slow steps into the room. His younger brother's deer in headlights look vanished into a flash of anger as he jumped the newly free man with the closest weapon he could grab. Bobby jumped in to pull the boys a part, but Sam was adamant.

"What are you?"

"Like you didn't do this?" The older brother struggled to get the leg up, but four months of running and hunting gave the Sasquatch an advantage.

"Do what?!"

"Sam, we've both been through this already, it's really him!" Poppie finally spoke with a shaky voice as the shady woman excused herself from the room. Sam's brown eyes flashed to the previously unnoticed person in the entry way, and his muscles froze with unease. Dean noticed the shift in energy and he didn't like it.

"How?" Sam finally stuttered as he pulled away and Dean couldn't help but break out into an almost giddy grin, letting the strain between the two drop from his radar momentarily.

"I know I look fantastic, huh?" His words sounded like the shit-eating grin on his lips. The young Singer watched the interaction and relaxed in a way she hadn't in months. Something about the brother's reunion made the world feel a bit less cold and unforgiving.

 _ **Poppie Singer.**_ Her head shot toward the still open hotel room door, and her eyes scanned the empty hallway.

"Did you guys hear-" She cut herself off when her name came again and no one budged. A magnetic pull shifted her weight and down the dimly lit corridor. Lights flashed as the voice returned, _**Poppie Singer, you must protect yourself. Stop Sam Winchester.**_ It was coming from everywhere, but when Bobby's gruff accent pierced the hallway, the message stopped. "Poppie Ann?"

"Dad, did you hear that?" She continued to search.

"Hear what? The sound of my own voice trying to find your idjit ass? Yes, I did." He huffed under his breath about these damn-fool kids as she reentered behind him to a stand-off between the Winchesters. They argued but Poppie was too distracted to listen.

The room was full of energy, and the air was thick. She struggled to take it all into her lungs, but just as she adjusted, the thickness was sucked from the room and her stomach tried to go with it. Stars filled her vision as she hit the couch hard, the familiar black tunnel of unconsciousness threatening to consume her.

"Poppie?" Bobby jumped to her side, but she simply shook her head and the feeling was gone.

"I'm... I'm fine." She shot up from her place, "I just need some air. Who was that chick anyway, Sam?" Before he could answer, or anyone could protest, Poppie fled the motel. The contents of her stomach lurched onto the sidewalk with a disgusting splash, and her vision blurred as her balance shifted. Her hands hit the stone side walk right before she smashed her face into the cement.

The world continued to spin when she pulled herself back onto her feet and wiped her mouth onto her sleeve. Her mind crawled with regret, but her feet continued to pull her farther from the motel as fast as she could go. To a passerby she probably looked drunk off her ass and she shivered as she contemplated the idea that someone or thing may find her in this weakened state before she could lock herself into her backseat.

The blonde's shaky fingers pushed clumsily into her pocket, and she fought to pull the cell phone out before the darkness completely engulfed her vision.

The next flash of light held the pain of the wet asphalt as it connected with her head. Plastic cracked as her phone skidded onto the damp street, the pieces separating and rendering her last chance for help useless. She struggled to pull her hands under her abdomen to push herself up, but the weight was too much.

 _ **Someone please, please help me.**_

She begged as a bright blue light filled her vision and a thick, humid heat enveloped her body. She had always imagined that death would be cold, but it was so fitting that in her last moments the sensation she surrendered herself to was searing comfort.

 _ **RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING, RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING**_

Poppie threw herself up right, gasping for air. Soft fabric ripped as her hands violently pulled at the surface her body had been resting on. The scent of dust and bourbon bombarded her senses and pulled her eyes open. Dingy papered walls cradled her in an impossible relief. Her own dingy papered walls.

"Dad? Dad?!" She screamed, jumping out of the bed and running into the library, the sounds of the phones still blaring. Poppie remembered Dean, the hotel where Sammy was at…Did any of it really happen? Dean had been a recurrent subject in her dreams, but it had all seemed so real. The house was empty, but it was definitely her house. She attempted to shake the bugs from her mind, but when she did her shirt tugged at the motion, glued to her skin with a thick, sticky but familiar liquid. Her feet urgently pulled her toward the dusty mirror in the entry way. Half-dried blood stained her blond hair and whitened her skin even more in contrast. Slowly she lifted her fingers over a knot matted to her temple. She flinched, expecting pain to shoot from the wound, but when she gingerly peeled it from her skin, the area was completely unmarked.

Dark and clouded skies shown through the windows as the woman retraced her steps and into the kitchen. The oven read 10:01 PM, and she was sure she had lost an entire day. Her memory flashed blue warmth, but it was all she could recall from right before she blacked out. Panic filled her lungs instead of air, and for the first time in many years all she wanted was her Dad. Poppie pulled the still ringing phone off its holder, smashed her thumb onto the plunger, and hurriedly dialed his cell number.

"Uh. Hello?" His voice was raspy and incredulous as he answered the call from his own home phone.

"Dad?" Poppie betrayed her, the word coming out in three octaves.

"Poppie?! Where the hell are you? You can't possibly be in Sioux Falls right now." Bobby wide eyed his hotel room clock, showing it hadn't even been an hour since his daughter fled the hotel like a spooked cat.

"I am! I don't know how I got here but I'm covered in blood and I... I don't think it's mine. I mean, I _think_ it's mine, but I'm not wounded. The last thing I remember is Dean walking on to the yard like he hadn't even been dead and going to find Sam. Then I woke up here and I must have lost an entire day. Where are you? I'm okay, but I'm freaked out." She finished while pulling at her shirt and struggling it over her head and the phone to rid herself of the horrific reminder.

"You haven't lost a day, you've barely been gone forty-five minutes. I'm coming home now." He flung himself up from the bed and grabbed his still packed bag, making for the boys' room across the hall. Before he reached the door, a loud shrill noise shook the building from inside the room. "Dean!?" He yelled, but no response, "Poppie, honey, I'm coming but there's something happening here. Please be safe, lock yourself in the safe room if you have to." The line went dead.

Finally taking a deep breath in, Poppie settled her thoughts while flipping on every light in the house. If something was going to come after her, she at least wanted to see it. Her fear pulled her toward the basement, but the flecks of blood that littered her chest pushed her up the stairs. If whatever had brought her here wanted her dead, she would be dust by now.

She went into her room, shutting and locking the heavy wooden door behind her. The life-long hunter covered the room in salt and made sure the devil's trap she had painted into the carpet was intact. When she was satisfied with her work, she peeled the rest of her clothes off and threw them onto the floor before going into her attached bathroom.

Her fingers found the light switch in the dark and when she flipped it on, she recoiled at her own reflection. She had seen the blood downstairs but a hand print wrapped around her shoulder made her want to scream. It was like she had been slapped by a hand shaped cattle brand, the edges lifted slightly, and the mark was bright pink. It wasn't placed the same as Dean's, it looked more like someone had cradled her. Poppie barely had the courage to run her thumb over the mark, almost afraid it would some how summon the creature, but her fingers slid over the mark gently. It didn't hurt like a fresh burn should.

Steam spilled from behind the shower door as she entered it. Shampoo and blood mixed as she took the time to massage every inch of her body until the water ran clear. It didn't take long to towel off and when she walked back in front of the mirror, the hand print stopped her again. Over the course of her shower some places had already started to fade into a fine white scar, like it had been healing for months.

She quickly dressed in one of her father's old t shirts and climbed into her newly ripped covers. A defeated sigh left her lips and she fingered the shreds of the quilt her grandmother had made before she was born. She rolled over and let her thoughts run wild, deciding that tonight she would sleep with her light on.

 _ **The Next Day.**_

Poppie scooted around the corner of the kitchen in a sleepy daze, her bones whined in protest as her muscles struggled to move their mass. Her father had called while she was asleep and left a message saying they were stopping by Pam's before heading home. But then Dean left another telling her the psychic's eyes had been burned out of her skull by something called a Castiel and they were staying until she woke up.

Evening had broken without any more news, and she calmed herself by remembering that both boys had already beaten death and that her father had hunted almost everything out there at least once. Her fingers dumbly followed their best recollection of how to brew a cup of coffee as her thoughts flitted drowsily. The scent of bitter caffeinated salvation filled her nose with hot hope. While she didn't have any bruises or cuts, her muscles were soft and hard to move. The warmth of the liquid passed over her lips and soothed the distraught woman.

She would start her research around creatures that could inject words into the mind. It hadn't sounded male or female, and she couldn't describe it in any particular way except it felt like her own thoughts manipulated by someone else. Next, she would look for something that left a hand print shaped scar on its victims. Was she a victim? It seemed like whatever they were dealing with, it saved her _and_ Dean.

The sound of fluttering fabric in her father's study caused her muscles to tense and automatically pull the gun from the fake bottom of a kitchen drawer. Her toes inched closer to the doorway, her brain finally alert and ears open. The sight of an intruder sent her into a battle stance, "Who are you?" Her voice was strong and confident despite her growing fear and she was relieved that her muscles weren't shaking under the weight of the hand gun.

"I am Castiel. Do not be concerned, I mean you no harm."

She looked at him with narrowing eyes and took in the man in the raggedy trench coat. Hewas the one who hurt Pamela? The air around this man, this being, was as warm as the coffee she could still taste on her tongue. It was heavy, expectant, and she couldn't believe it but there was a beautiful shimmer of blue emanating from every angle of him. Involuntarily she shook her head, but the light stayed. "You're the one who brought me home last night. Why? How did we get back here so fast? How do you know where I live?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord." His voice rasped as if he hadn't used it in years, his arms stayed limply at his sides. Blue eyes watched her with an intensity that made her blood start to boil, she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"You're... an Angel? Like a 'John 3:16' Angel?" She asked with less confidence and held her ground, inching back when he leaned in a little closer.

He nodded, "I spoke to you at the hotel."

"That was you?" She stopped and looked him over again, "The voices from the other night, too?"

"What voices?"

"What happened last night?" She countered. The light from him glittered like the bottom of a clear swimming pool. It refracted from subtle moves, changed constantly and almost vanished if you looked straight at him. It reminded her of the darkness that surrounded the girl in Sam's room.

"I had not yet found a vessel. Dean could not hear my true voice, so I attempted another avenue. When I realized I had overpowered you, I brought you home to rest. I healed your wounds when I found you."

"You burned Pamela's eyes from the inside out. Can you fix that, too?" At that she flashed a glance back to his face and suddenly became aware of how close she had gotten without noticing. Her fingers twitched around the trigger of her still outstretched gun.

"I cannot. Her injuries were caused by exposure to Angel grace, I warned her not to look." He spoke simply. "That gun won't hurt me."

"Call it a security blanket." Poppie said with a dry smile. She geared up for a fight, but Castiel just kept looking at her as if _she_ was the unknown intruder in _his_ home. She quirked her eyebrow, "Why are you here?"

"I have been tasked with keeping you safe." He spoke as if he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

"Since when?" She started to lower the weapon when the Angel's head whipped to the right and the sudden movement had the hunter aimed precisely at his chest.

"I must go. Heaven calls."

She started to protest but before she could open her mouth, the Angel was gone. After a moment she sighed and dropped the gun to her side. What were they getting into?


	2. Angel Song

_**Chapter Two: Angel Song**_

 _ **When the angels turn the lights on in heaven tonight**_

 _ **And hang out the stars in the blue**_

 _ **When you see that first star through your window tonight**_

 _ **I'll be dreaming, my darling, of you**_

 _ **September 2** **0**_ _ **th**_ _ **2008**_

"That _thing_ came here?!" The anger and fear of fatherhood boomed through the house. "That sonofabitch laid hands on my daughter but won't heal poor Pamela?! What back-ass kind of Angel burns a woman's eyes out and causes another to practically drop dead in the street and lose a liter of blood!?" He continued his tirade while pacing the dirty carpet in front of the kitchen table.

The three children sat at the kitchen table. Dean was angry, and Sam looked guilty enough that his skin might melt off if you looked at him too hard. "Poppie, that _'Angel'_ comes back again you put two bullets between his eyes, ya hear me?!" His fingers put air quotes around the word angel, and if he hadn't been so angry the young Singer would have probably laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Bobby, we already know shooting it won't do anyth-" Dean dared speak up, but Bobby cut him off to yell, "No, but it'll sure as hell make ME feel better!" And with that, the old man stormed off to find something in one of his books to keep Angels at bay as he pulled a liquor bottle from his stash.

When he was safely away Dean took his turn to stand up; anger flashed behind his green eyes. "This is a big deal, Pops! We filled that thing with 3 tons of lead, Ruby's knife _and_ he walked through every sigil we have EVER seen like he was strutting the red carpet. He put Bobby to bed with two fingers. Now he knows where you live and apparently has some kind of interest in your pretty little ass!"

"Yeah, the apparently same interest he has in yours." Poppie shot back while standing up, attempting to look as tall as she could. Sam gave a chuckle he covered with a loud cough before avoiding Dean's glare. "It's not like I invited him over for a romantic evening. He popped into the living room, told me he was an Angel sent to protect me, glowed a little and then poofed right back out."

"Glowed?" Dean thought she finally lost her marbles, "He didn't glow when I saw him. Flashed some creepy looking ghost wings, and brought a lightening storm that could take out an entire city but he didn't _glow._ "

"Well, he did when he was here." She quipped and walked past Dean toward the fridge, pulling out another beer and sitting at the chair furthest from Sam. He flinched when she walked past him.

"And just what the hell is going on with you two?" The oldest brother pointed and they really looked at each other for the first time in two months. She waited for him to admit it, but when he remained silent she felt herself rise from her seat and out of the kitchen. That was his circus and his monkeys, she was staying out of it.

It wasn't long before she made her way into her room and locked the door. She sighed as she rubbed her head and slouched down into her desk chair, her eyes falling onto a photo of her mother. She wouldn't even be the same person if her mother was still alive. No hunting, no Winchesters and no, apparently _guardian_ , Angels. Poppie found herself doing something she hadn't done in years. She spoke to her Mother and found herself reciting the prayer she had been taught as a child.

"Your Mother loves you still very much." A gravel voice cut through the silent room and caused her to jump and spin to face him. Her hand grabbed the knife sitting on the table.

"What do you want?"

"You called for me." He said levelly and absolutely. "That knife won't hurt me either. If I wanted to cause you harm, I would have done it already."

"No, I didn't." She said irritated, throwing the knife back to the table, "I didn't call for you." The daughter of Bobby Singer didn't make it a habit of being at the mercy of men or monsters. She trained her whole life and was very pleased when she ganked her first vampire at 16, even more so when she had first laid Dean out during a spare session. If she hadn't already heard that weapons didn't work on him, she probably would have already tried to take him out herself. At this point, she wasn't sure making him angry was the best strategy anyway. "What does hurt you?"

"I heard your prayers for protection. I am tasked as being your protector. So I came." Castiel spoke with the same irritation the woman in front of him exuded as he evaded her question. Her body leaned against the worn wooden desk behind her.

"Yeah, you keep saying that. So, you heard me praying? Like the exact words? Can you hear this one?" She still couldn't believe she was in the presence of an Angel, but each piece of evidence only supported the theory. Her mother had been very religious, her father had always said that they had gone to church twice a week. She made pies for the congregation, and broccoli casserole for every funeral.

"I hear your words, but I don't see a strange man in your room." He deadpanned. Poppie couldn't help but laugh. Castiel angled his head, he hadn't meant to be humorous.

"You're the strange man in my room," Poppie noticed that she was fully aware of his stance and facial expression even when she looked away. Did all Angels fill the room like this? "Why are you glowing? And how come Dean didn't see it? He thought I was nuts."

"I am not a man, I'm an Angel. And what you see is my grace, a whisper of my true visage. Only special beings can witness an Angels' true image, hear their real voice without peril. He is not one of those beings. " He said, still remaining iron-faced.

"But I am? What does that even mean?" She took a step closer to him, her arms crossed firmly over her chest.

"It means you're very important to Heaven." Castiel felt himself take a step forward as well, shoulders broadening.

His eyes swept quickly over her body. Her prayer had pulled him quickly from his post, but as the conversation continued he doubted any harm was befalling her at all. She caught his flickering glance and felt the pull of a sly smile on her lips. Poppie purred and caught the Angel off guard. She studied his energy as she closed the space between them and readjusted her strategy.

"No." Castiel's eyes were slits now, trying to understand the meaning of her question.

"You said that awful fast to mean it." He felt unsure about what she was attempting, her whole demeanor had changed from combative and closed off, to practically beckoning him.

"I do not understand why the speed of my speech would alter its meaning."

"You're denying an awful lot to be telling the truth."

"Why would affirming the truth lead you to believe I was lying?"

The confusion twisting his features made him look almost human, it hit her with a cold slap and caused her stomach to twist in nausea, "You're possessing someone like a demon." It wasn't a question.

"I am in a vessel. A devout man of God, who prayed to become something greater and accepted my offer with full and complete consent. He is vaguely aware of what's going on." His words were strange to him as he had never taken the time to explain what it meant for an Angel to be in a vessel. In truth, he hadn't had many conversations with humans, never this in depth or this long. He had watched the Earth since the dawning of time. The evolution of God's creations; the fish, the mammals, birds and man. He had watched intently from his spot in Heaven, their accomplishments and the wars they waged. Every small detail and life in between but speaking to them had never piqued his interest. He had never before had orders to spend so much time with a select few, to gain their trust.

"What's his name?" She continued to watch him closely, maybe trying to identify the man in front of her.

"Jimmy Novak."

"Does he have a family?"

"Does it matter?" He said, his frustration growing with every forced word.

Then she did something completely unexpected. She reached out and placed her hand on his chest. Little sparks of energy erupted through her arm and for a moment she almost pulled back, but when she relaxed and pushed into him, she heard him speak.

J _ **immy knew what he was consenting, too.**_

"Of course it matters, it doesn't matter what he consented to. He couldn't have known he was getting into this… " She looked up at his eyes, not expecting the shocked expression that looked back at her. Poppie pulled her hand away and took a few steps back, almost just realizing she had actually touched him.

"I didn't say that out loud." He squinted his eyes further and chased her retreated figure to recreate what had just occurred. His fingers wrapped roughly around both her shoulders and he focused on the sound of the other Angels' voices in the back of his mind. Poppie almost fell down at the onslaught of whispers in her head and probably would have if not for Castiel's tight grip on her. The voices spoke all at once and she shook her head trying to focus on any one phrase in particular.

Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to focus, because she understood all of them.

"Cas... Castiel? What is this? What am I hearing?" She looked into his eyes as they widened again and his grip on her shoulders tightened.

 _ **The seal!**_

 _ **He must not rise.**_

He was flabbergasted. What was this girl that she could tap into something so far above human comprehension? Did his superiors know what she was capable of when they put her in his charge? Why wasn't he fully informed? He needed to seek council immediately.

"I must go."

 **September 23rd, 2018**

Poppie sat on the dirty cot sitting in the middle of the room. She had helped her father build the panic room while Dean was in hell, and today it came in handy as they faced vengeful spirits that appeared not to be tethered to anything. The boys busied themselves making salt rounds while Poppie and Bobby poured through lore book after lore book researching what they could possibly be facing.

"Found it." Bobby's voice cut through the tension, the kids turned to see the old hunter rap a pen against his notes. "The symbol you saw - the brand on the ghosts...Mark of the Witness."

"Witness? Witness to what?" After walking across the room to look over Bobby's shoulder, Sam ran his eyes over the symbol in the old book. Dean squinted as he waited for the hunter to explain himself, all these stupid sigils were starting to look the same and he was just over this whole situation.

"The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts - they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them on purpose." The words sank in and suddenly the air of the room seemed to become too heavy to breathe.

A thumping rose in Poppie's ears and her head shot to the door of the safe room before she realized it was coming from her own chest. Unnatural deaths? Her fingers swept over the oval shaped locket around her neck at the inference. Her blue eyes locked with the weathered eyes of her father, the same thoughts flitting just behind them.

Sam didn't notice, "Who?"

"Do I look like I know?" Bobby barked, indignant to the interruption. "But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark. A _brand_ on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called 'the rising of the witnesses.' It figures into an ancient prophecy."

Dean shook his head, "Wait, wait. What book is that prophecy from?"

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short - Revelations. This is a sign, guys."

Sam, Dean and Poppie looked at each other, and the younger Singer finally stood up and joined the three men across the room, "A sign of what?" Bobby closed his eyes and hesitated, where was the parenting manual on getting your kid through this?

"The apocalypse."

They all froze in place as the horror washed over them. Sam ran his fingers nervously through his hair. Dean's fear turned to anger and disbelief.

"Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?" Dean asked back to the man who had practically raised him, the man he trusted with his and his brother's life, his voice raising an octave.

"That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a - a mile marker." The just over middle-aged man said in response.

"Okay, so, what do we do now?" Sam uncrossed his own arms and jumped a little as his brother shrugged it all off with a raspberry.

"Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience. Bunny Ranch." He raised his eyebrows and pointed finger guns at the woman next to him.

Poppie rolled her eyes, irritated, "How about we get out of this alive?" She stood up, suddenly feeling like she should be moving. "Then we worry about the bunny ranch, Heff."

"Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?"

"There's a spell…" Bobby fingered the paper in front of him, "…to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

" _Should_. Great." Sam paced. He was starting to get claustrophobic and his eyes darted around the tall but skinny room. He could lay down and his head would touch the wall opposite his feet. If he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to lose it. He looked over at the woman next to him but she looked toward the opposite wall in response. She never looked him in the eye any more and the little reminder of what she knew and could drop on Dean at any time made him nervous. It had been too long since he'd seen Ruby, sweat beaded his forehead.

"If I translate it correctly. I think we got everything we need here at the house." Bobby stood up and started toward the door, aloof to Sam's internal struggle.

"Any chance we have everything we need in here?" Poppie asked nervously, her fingers never leaving the pendant around her neck. It was the last thing her mother had given her, a necklace with a photo of her parents enclosed in a gold heart. Bobby didn't miss the nervous tick and his heart sank a little more.

"You thought our luck was gonna start now, all of a sudden? Spell's got to be cast over an open fire, Pops." If the old hunter was worried about coming face to face with his dead wife, he hid it well Dean thought as he studied his moves. Poppie was a mess and they could all see it. He desperately wished she would stay in the panic room and far away from the front lines. He had tried to protect her from the life since they were kids running around the salvage yard, but Poppie was a spit-fire just like her old man and even as she shook in front of him, she would never admit it.

"The fireplace in the library." Sam said as they braced for the worst.

"Bingo."

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

His mind whirled through the events that had transpired over the last few days. She could hear the angels when they made physical contact? What kind of human could do such a thing? Could she be a fallen or a Nephilim? No, she was inexplicably human as far as he could tell.

 **Castiel.**

 _ **Castiel.**_

 **Castiel.**

The voices called to him, pulled him back to the garrison for a briefing, Uriel sounded particularly urgent. His wings dared not flutter in his current state, one look at him and they would know he was hiding something. _Why_ he was hiding it he still did not know. What was he afraid of?

 **Castiel! The seal has been broken.**

 _ **The seal!**_

 **They must not break anymore! You tell the Winchesters to watch their back!**

He was relieved to find himself inside the dark kitchen of Bobby Singer and looking on at the still sleeping figure of Dean Winchester. Castiel followed his orders and sent an image of himself into Dean's dream but his physical form couldn't stay away.

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

"You were confronted by the spirits of those you could not save today." Castiel stood behind the woman in black as she stared out over a warm and sunny shore. Waves pulled in and pushed out rhythmically to the beating of her heart, he could feel it as he inhabited her dreams. With a pulse of energy, he felt out the rest of her corporeal body, finding minimal injuries and sighing a breath of relief as her Guardian Angel. Her shoulders were bowed, and her hair was a dim sort of yellow instead of her usual brilliant gold. "Their souls were corrupted by the spell cast by Lilith to break one of the seals of the apocalypse."

"Of course. Who better to rip hunters apart but those we would have ripped ourselves apart to save?" Her gaze didn't move from the ocean, her body didn't flinch as the cold sea spray misted her face.

Castiel walked beside her, taking in the view himself, "Lilith has a certain sense of humor." Her eyes widened, offended, at the word humor but it quickly dissipated.

"We put those spirits back to rest." Her mind tried to wander back over the day, but she held her thoughts firmly to the Angel at her side.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't matter. The seal was broken… But they are all at peace now." He sighed into the breeze and continued to study the waves in front of him.

"Why did she break the seal?" Poppie felt blindsided, and it frustrated her.

"The seals are locks." The woman listened to him and swayed back and forth with the crashing of the waves willing the illusion to comfort her aching joints. Her arm accidentally brushed the trench coated arm of the Angel's vessel, causing him to feel... hot.

The brief contact brought her a breath of comfort, "What are they holding?"

"Lucifer." His voice was grave and rough. Immediately, Poppie froze and turned her entire body toward him.

"No. He isn't real." The fear in her voice was palpable. He was startled to see someone who held such a strong composure almost crumble in front of him.

"Unfortunately, yes, he is." The waves picked up and the sky darkened as the woman processed his words, the war looming in front of her. She had only just gotten Dean back and now they were all in grave danger.

"Lucifer." Her blood began to boil.

"I will do my best to protect you."

"Why didn't my Mom rise?" The question erupted before she could stop it. She knew it was a selfish and ill-timed question, but the idea of the Devil himself was too much, too soon. It really was a good questions, though, because why wouldn't Lillith bring back the one person her and Bobby couldn't face?

"I don't know." He paused, "But there are other battles, other seals."

"Are you saying that Lillith may bring my Mother back in the future? Can't you guys stop her before that happens?" Poppie said.

"Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week." His stance hardened beside her, "There's something integral about your abilities. You and Dean are part of Heaven's greatest defense. If you want her stopped, we need your assistance."

Her heart dropped. "I'm so sorry your brothers died, I know what that's like. But I will not be used in your fight like some atomic bomb! I just got Dean back, how can I put him on the front lines against _Lucifer_?"

"If he rises, Poppie, the _whole world_ is at are you humans all so single minded and selfish?" Castiel pushed his shoulders into her direction intimidatingly, but Poppie only lengthened stature.

"Humans are single minded and selfish? The only thing going through that angel radio is a play by play of the apocalypse! A thousand Angels, all thinking the same thing! And here you are asking Dean and I to put our lives, our family's lives, on the line and expect us not to question it?!" Her eyes flared as the sky turned dark above them.

"I do not understand why you do not grasp the gravity of situation. Billions of people will die. Your families are the least of our concerns." His voice was in the bottom of his throat, scratching his vocal cords on the way out. How could they be so stubborn? They are the hands in which the fate off all of creation is carried, and they won't do anything to keep it safe?

He noticed the thunder before he felt the wind pick up. His eyes darted around the once peaceful shore as it blurred into a hurricane in seconds. The air around him grew humid. The energy pulled toward the sky as if something was charging to attack. Castiel was unimpressed with her tantrum until a flash of light sent a shock through his body that burned like holy oil fire. It held him in his stance, unable to move from its power.

"POPPIE!" A voice woke her before she could rebuke the Angel's last remark, she hadn't noticed how her attack had affected him. Castiel stood invisible just beyond reach, confusion and anger of his own in the pit of his stomach. The pain he had felt shouldn't be possible, it wasn't really him but a projection that entered dreams. Not only that, but a human shouldn't have any power over him regardless. His fear of this mounting situation grew and he found himself even deeper than he had realized.

Poppie groaned and forced herself to get out of bed. Her feet dragged her down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and Dean greeted her from the table with a grunt. She poured herself a steaming mug and sat down beside him without saying a word.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the two, "You guys all right? What's wrong?"

Dean looked up from his own mug of coffee, "So... You got no problem believing in God and Angels?"

"No, not really." Sam was trying to be lighthearted, it got harder by the day.

Poppie watched the ripples in her own drink and spoke without taking her eyes off them, "How about Lucifer?"


	3. The Heart Wants What it Wants

_**Chapter Three: The Heart Wants What it Wants**_

 _ **I know I'm acting a bit crazy**_

 _ **Strung out, a little bit hazy**_

 _ **Hand over heart, I'm praying**_

 _ **That I'm gonna make it out alive**_

.

The main room was full of white lace. The tall cathedral held beautiful stained-glass windows that towered over 7 feet tall on their own. A decorated wedding alter framed a simple half column with an iron archway and white roses climbing the sides. Poppie studied herself in the full-length mirror of the bridal room, the soft green eyes of Karen Singer smiling up and down the reflection from beside her.

"You look gorgeous, honey." She swooned over her beautiful daughter on her big day, "I'm going to go make sure everything else is ready." Her steps retreated from the suite and the bridge continued to look at herself. She knew she was dreaming; it was one of her favorites.

"You do look beautiful."

She spun around at the intruder, completely startled at the sudden change in the always identical fantasy. "You aren't supposed to be here." She spoke as she put the matching bouquet of white roses onto the side table.

His eyes never left her, "Where is the groom?"

"There isn't one…" She noticed the blue shimmer that made the Angel stand out was gone. "Uhm, Are you real?" She stumbled over her words and her feet. The pure white lace pulled under the toe of her shoe and the pretend bride was shot forward. Castiel effortlessly caught the falling woman and lifted her up against his chest. Their eyes locked. The air in the room stilled and grew hot until it threatened to suffocate her.

"Why would there be a wedding with no groom? I don't think I understand this."

Her heart pounded as she tried to make herself speak, "I've never met a man I wanted to marry, but I've always wished Mother would be with me. I think it's a girl thing… I've had this dream a million times and the only time it's ever been more than my mom and me is now. With you."

She was painfully aware that her body was still pressed hotly against his chest. The whole image was too intimate. Her back straightened quickly and her feet shuffled as far away as she could get in the tiny room. "So, yeah. Did…Uh… Did you say you needed something in coming here?"

"I came to make sure you were safe."

"Oh." 

"You are needed."

And like that, she woke up and he was gone.

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

 _ **September 24**_ _ **th**_ _ **2008**_

"So, you can tap into this... Angel Radio?" Dean looked at what MUST have been a shapeshifter impersonating Bobby Singer's daughter, but didn't let her answer before he continued, "And when you look at him… he… _glows_." He twisted his face and Poppie wanted to twist the rest of him to match. "What kind of bullshit is all this? What are you?!" His hands threw up as they debriefed each other. It had been a long four days and none of them had been sitting long enough to catch up. They were tired, and it showed.

"Hey, you hold up there, son. She's my _daughter_ that's _what_ she is." Bobby grunted but didn't try to hide his fear at the implication.

"I know I said he glows, but that's not really what it is. It's like I can see this light coming from him. He says it's his grace."

"And the fuck is that Miss America bullshit!? This is insane." He cut her off again.

"I don't know, Dean! Like, his Angel self? I haven't seen him much more than you have and it's not like he told me anything. I think it freaks him out, too. When I saw him a couple nights ago, he said we were part of Heaven's defense and last night he said I was _needed_. Whatever the flip that means."

The older Winchester rubbed his eyes, "Part of Heaven's defense? He told me we were all part of this ancient story. He sure seems to visit you a lot at _night_."

Flashes of long forgotten words spilling from the demon inside his wife replayed through Bobby's mind like he was hearing them for the first time. "Ancient story." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it was too late to take it back now. The kids looked at him like he'd grown a third nipple right there in the middle of his forehead. "The demon that possessed your mother, before Rufus exercised it, it said that..." His words sank in and struck her like a slap in the face. "It said that we were all part of the oldest end in the book, we were just secondary characters in a bigger plot."

Poppie felt her heart drop into her stomach. A harsh realization that her mother's death hadn't been random hit her like a cold slap in the face. Tears began to sting from behind her eyes from old wounds, and all she could think about was just how tired she really was.

Bobby stood up with a hollow expression and spoke mostly to himself, "Of all the things we've faced, the thing to get its grips into my girl had to be the freakin' apocalypse. God help me, Karen." He left the room to re-read every book in his library and maybe the ones downtown, too.

The terrified father never considered his wife's death could have been related to Azazel and the special children. Would she have made a deal with a demon at the expense of their child? Karen hadn't died pinned to the ceiling of their nursery. Poppie had never shown any strange abilities before now and wasn't made to compete in that sick tournament to the death.

When Karen had run into the living room with a little pink stink after three years of nothing, he'd thought it was a miracle. An answered prayer. A sick feeling crawled up his spine.

Bobby Singer didn't know about this Angel guy, but he'd be thankful for any help protecting his baby.

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

 _ **October 30**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 2008**_

The boys had been in and out of Sioux Falls since mid-September. Poppie had taken a break from hunting, mostly by the request of her father, and brushed up on her theology and demonology. The Singers fell back into their old habits easily; the younger taking the phones in the morning, making breakfast and tidying when her father wasn't looking. Bobby took the phones all day, cooked dinner and, recently, researched until dawn. Castiel hadn't visited since their last encounter in her Wedding dream.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see if I can spare her…You seen that Angel lately? Uh-huh. Don't do anything stupid." Bobby gruffly hung up and twisted in the old wooden office chair to face the blond. She was sitting in an oversized easy chair, sifting through a large book. Garth had called about a monster that sucked the blood of its victims but was, 'Definitely not a vampire, trust me.'

Her eyes had darted to her father, excited at the prospect of going on a hunt and getting out of the house. "Dean and Sam are working a case about three hours from here. A man died after eating razor blades hidden in Halloween candy. They found four in his stomach."

Poppie's eye brow piqued involuntarily. "He swallowed four? How is that even possible?" Her fingers eased the book closed while her feet planted themselves onto the patterned maroon rug beneath her. He just shrugged and mumbled a smart aleck remark under his breath. "Fair enough, I guess I'll head over and help them with the research. I'm pretty bored anyway. It's been two months since I've seen any action aside from the witnesses. I'm getting doughy."

"Hey, you don't go lookin' for any action either, kid. You stay in the motel and flip through books. You let them boys do all the dirty work. The crazies come out this time of year." His weathered shoulders were slumped and made his 58 years seem closer to 80. The last month had worn him down like a 30-day-always-on-the-move hunt. Poppie would wake up and find him passed out on his desk, a new book finished every morning. She'd go to bed to the sounds of his pages flipping and his flask unscrewing. "Doughy's a good look on you, kid. It's not too late to go back to college leave this life and live the way your Mamma always planned. Hell, skip college and just take over the yard, you know your way around a car and the customers love you."

He had stopped trying to convince her out of hunting years ago. She wore him down with the help of Dean and months of studying under his supervision. They compromised that she finish high school first, in case she ever changed her mind. She really was grateful to have that diploma, even if it had caused a rift between them for years. His eyes had a glimmer of hope, a desperate need for her to say, "Okay," and turn into Holly Housewife, or at least Rosie the Riveter. But he knew that girl was as stubborn as him.

It was selfish and cruel, what him and John did to their kids. This life was no way to live, but at least he had chosen it.

"Dad, I know this isn't what you wanted. And I'll always keep this old pile of rust and dust going, but I know what's out there and it knows me. I am happy to get out there and help people the best way I know how. It isn't your fault that demon did to our family, and it isn't your fault I want to hunt now. I love you, Dad." She skipped over to his side, her hand grasping his shoulder while she spoke and as the last words left her lips, they pursed and kissed his cheek gently.

She could see torment behind the light smile he gave her in response, but she chose to ignore it. Then she walked toward the stairs, her duffle already packed for a quick escape. "Besides, how on Earth am I ever gonna get a nice, successful man to sweep me away from this life if I'm fat?" Her smile and sarcastic remark brought a little twinkle back into the old man's eyes.

"Girl, how are you going to find a nice, successful man when all you do is sit at home with this old man or run around with the Winchester boys? Oh god, please do not fall for a Winchester. My old heart couldn't take it." His twinkle disappeared, eaten by the mental image of tiny Winchester-Singer kids. Poppie laughed.

"I think if I can resist Dean's charms with raging teenage hormones, I can make it a few more years." She rolled her eyes and started toward the door. "I'll call as soon as I meet up with them, and no grand romantic moments. Promise."

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

"Yeah, definitely a witch. This hex bag is insane." Poppie fingered the spilled contents of the cloth bag on the table. The round silver piece glinted through a thick buildup of tarnish, but the deciding factor of the witch's power was much more threatening.

"Yeah?" Dean asked lazily, Sam picked up a dried flower from the pile and twirled it delicately in his fingers.

"Goldthread. An herb that's been extinct for two hundred years… And this," He motioned to the coin, "…is Celtic, and I don't mean some new age knock-off. It looks like the real deal, like 600-years-old real." Almost ignoring his brother, Dean lifted the last piece of the pile and brought it to his nose. Poppie winced.

"And um… that is a barbequed baby finger..." She almost couldn't get out the words. Even after years of gory deaths, and some gruesome kills of her own, something about kids still pulled a guttural reaction from her. The oldest and still most immature man in the room dropped the bone with a disgusted groan and short, 'gross', mirroring her sentiments.

"Relax guys, it's like, at least a hundred years old." Sam tried to reason with them, but it didn't help. She squeezed her eyes into slits, willing the bone to evaporate from in front of her. With the month she was having, it could happen.

"Oh, right, like that makes it better? Witches, man, they're so friggin' skeevy." Dean moved over to the chair next to the couch Poppie occupied. Her head nodded in agreement. Witches were another kind of creature for her. On one hand witches were usually bad ass women making their own way in a world of monsters and danger. Taking a truth that could tear down and terrify some people and using it to their advantage. It was pretty inspiring. Unfortunately, not very many witches could use the power they wielded for good and eventually greed always took over and that's when they had to step in.

"Yeah, and it takes a pretty ruthless one to get all this shit together. Probably been killing for years." Poppie rationed with herself about having to put down another almost human. The hardest cases were the ones where the perpetrator could have lived a completely different life. Her mind drifted back over a werewolf or two, and the Rugaru in Carthage that Sam had told her about. "More juice than I've ever dealt with, that's for sure. What about you, Dean? Find anything on the victim?"

"This Luke Wallace? He was so vanilla that he made vanilla seem spicy. I can't find any reason why somebody would want this guy dead." Dean sighed, he brought Poppie in when they found the hex bag. To him, the woman being around was like having a smoking hot version of Bobby right there to help with the case. The thought had Dean surprisingly excited and kind of grossed out. When he visually shuddered the two younger hunters looked at him through confused eyes, but he shook it off easily. He had hoped she would be able to help them track down their witch, but right now they were coming up with a big goose egg.

Someone else was going to die.

 _ **October 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 2008**_

Chipped red nail polish threaded through her blond locks, twirling the strands into tight ringlets and releasing them to unfurl with a nervous bounce. Poppie stared off in the direction of the television. She had flipped it on when the boys had left for the school. Before she left Sioux Falls, she had promised not to get too involved, and now she was regretting it. The air in the room suddenly pressurized, a fluttering of familiar but invisible wings followed and soon a pair of rich blue eyes met her own. The next sound that filled her ears was the fluttering of her own heart. "Castiel?" Her voice was smaller than she had anticipated, and the man didn't respond. Instead he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Heat. Salt.

 _ **Caww, Caww**_

When the shock of brightness died down, she realized she heard waves in addition to the Seagulls. White sand was warm and soft under her bare feet that had been painfully cold from the unforgiving floor of the motel only moments before. The balm of sea air and sunlight felt like a luxurious skin cream and massage.

"Castiel?" Her eyes swept the length of the beach. There was a family about 100 feet down the shore. Two beautiful brown skinned children, with soft looking black curls, played loudly.

"Oye! OYE!" The boy was running toward the departing waves with an excited bounce in each step, a small girl was a few steps in front of him. "Amo el océano!"

"You are not safe. The witch found out the identity of the Winchesters and had you been there when he arrived, you would have been killed. I will retrieve you when the threat has been eliminated." His lips were pushed together in a tight line, his large eyes were wild, but she could tell he was trying to hide it by forcing them to squint slightly. Her hand came up automatically to protest, but with another flutter of wings; she was alone.

"Hmmm, okay." She said out loud before risking another long look at her surroundings. The family was still enjoying a nice day on the beach. Behind them was a long line of what appeared to be small hotels. Her fingers automatically went into her jacket pockets, thankful as they brushed against the worn leather of her wallet and cool metal of her cell phone. Sometimes she hated that her lifestyle forced her to be a little more masculine than she'd prefer, but she had to admit that it came in handy. If her items had been in a purse, they never would have made the trip to… wherever Castiel had brought her.

Across a two lane, cracked and faded road sat a small orange and brown building with rounded terra cotta shingles and a nice sign that read 'BBVA Bancomer.' She debated walking across the street but looked down at her naked toes as they dug into the sand of their own accord. Poppie had been wearing her pajamas from the night before, a pair of linen shorts and a hoodie, which felt comfortable in the slightly cool breeze from the ocean.

Her mind wandered. Would he swoop in and teleport her away from all her hunts? That would be incredibly inconvenient, though she was grateful that he wanted to keep her safe. She thought of him, the eyes that had pierced her soul in less time than it took him to fly her thousands of miles away. Her heart still pounded as she thought over his words. This whole thing was new and terrifying. With a father like hers, she wasn't used to not knowing what she was dealing with.

"You may return now. The threat has been neutralized. The Winchesters are currently taking care of Samhain." Castiel reached out to the woman once more, but she pulled away to avoid his grasp.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked.

"To keep the witch from finding and killing you." His answer was fast and agitated.

"I'm a hunter, fighting witches is what I do. You didn't pull me away from the witnesses. In fact, you told Dean that you had better things to do than to follow us around." His echoed words hit as she threw them.

"You're very important to Heaven's mission."

"Yeah? And what is that exactly? Because apparently the demon who killed my Mother was after _me_ since, as you and this demon have both said, I'm part of some _story_."

Castiel looked down his nose at her, "The demon said what?" Panic rose in his chest, even if he couldn't place it.

"Why did you bring me here, Cas?" She pleaded and realized too late what she had called him. "Castiel." The Huntress corrected herself, a light blush spreading across her cheeks.

"You may call me whatever you like." Castiel's voice was heavy, his eyes were intense, and his rough fingers twitched from their resting place at his side. He paused before his face took on a more relaxed and defeated appearance, "My partner, Uriel, he can be a bit impulsive. I was afraid of what he might have done, if he knew what you were capable of."

Her eyes widened, "You haven't told the other Angels?"

His face was soft, "No." He lifted his fingers to her shoulder, "I have not."

Suddenly, she was surrounded by the monochromatic walls of the cold motel, but she heard his thoughts as they traveled.

 _ **Abomination.**_

She looked to him, hurt and confusion dripped from her expression. His hand snapped from her and to his side, his face morphed into one of pain and reluctance.

Then the air he had occupied was vacant once more.

"Pops, you here?!" A shout came from the entrance of the motel room and the girl quickly shook herself but the hot rock in her core wouldn't dissipate.

"Yeah, I'm here! Just back from what I think was Mexico." Poppie tried to play off the wobble in her legs, the flushed tone to her cheeks.

"Poppie? Are you okay? Did that junkless moron hurt you?" He quickly walked to her side and reached out to put a hand on her back. In a panic, the young Singer dodged his hand and lifted her palms out in front of her, afraid to catch anymore hurtful words.

"No, no. I'm fine! That teleportation really gets to you, huh? I'm gonna go shower, I have sand in my shorts." She knew she spoke too quickly, moved to her bag and into the locked bathroom too fast, but she just couldn't stay in the same room with them any longer.

"Right, whoa-kay there Flighty." Dean said after her, suspicious of her actions. He turned to Sam when she shut the door behind her, who in turn, looked as confused as he was. "What do you think happened that has her acting all crazy?"

"I don't know, maybe it _was_ just traveling faster than the speed of light. I mean, I can't image that could be comfortable. Plus, she's going through a lot man. I know what it's like to find out your mom is dead because of you." Sam practically whispered.

Dean stilled. When Poppie finished in the bathroom, Dean left to shower. Sam looked guiltily over at Poppie from across the room as she bent over and packed her bags. "We need to talk about what happened, Pops." She jolted upright.

"What do you mean, Sam?" She turned to pack some items from farther into the room.

He sighed, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for what I said, for what I tried to do." His voice was heavy, her eyes stung with the familiar pressure.

"You were drunk, Sam. It's fine." She picked up a handful of Dean's clothes when she had finally packed her own bag.

"It's not fi—"

"It's FINE, Sammy. Drop it. I forgive you." The yonger Winchester was cut off from answering as the bathroom door swung open.


	4. The Worry List

_**Chapter 4: The Worry List**_

 _ **I know that God exists, I held her in my arms**_

 _ **I never knew I was able to ever feel this strong**_

 _ **Take me off your worry list, it'll be better that way**_

 _ **I'm really fine, and Mar, there's nothing we haven't talked about**_

 _ **So, take me off your worry list, I said "throw it away"**_

 _ **Yeah, this is what my life is about**_

 _ **I might've been gone, but I never walked out**_

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

 _ **Abomination.**_

It ripped through her brain like a dull razor that just couldn't make a clean break. Poppie couldn't keep the tears from staining her cheeks as she looked over the cars in Singer Salvage. A thin layer of snow was building over the familiar terrain, obscuring it from view.

She hated how her eyes watered uncontrollably at the slightest hint of emotion. It felt like an embarrassing betrayal of her private thoughts and a reminder that she was miles from being the strong, hell-fire woman she wished to be. Her tears were a curse she'd worn like an ugly handmade sweater since childhood. They would sting behind her eyes when she would get punished as a child, or when she'd argue with Dean. He had always called her a cry-baby and, honestly, she was.

Just behind the back door, Bobby watched her slouching shoulders as she stared off into nothing like it was her job. Poppie had been avoiding him for days and the longer she spent tiptoeing from room-to-room and checking around corners the more suspicious he got. He hadn't lived through almost 30 years of hunting by being unobservant. The old man may have been a lot of things, but a chump he wasn't.

The snowy sunset had been the back drop of her late evening pity sessions three nights in a row. Her elbows slung over the splintered banister of the wooden deck as white fluff started to accumulate on her clothing as well. A miserable dampness began to seep onto her skin and her shoulders slumped a little lower at the idea of having to drag herself up the unforgiving stairs.

"Sweetheart?" Her father's voice dripped with insecurities he had never suffered before the appearance of Heaven. His extensive knowledge of monsters paled in comparison to the wealth of information he cultivated on his daughter. The Singers had grown an abundant garden of memories and love that flourished into their relationship. But the onslaught of Armageddon had thrown a wedge into their closeness. "Love ya, kid."

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

"I am not a child, Dean!" Poppie threw the door to the impala closed in a huff of rage and embarrassment. Her eyes hurt as the pressure built and shame-filled tears threatened to break the dam behind them. The aforementioned boy had shown up in town and pulled her unceremoniously out of her date.

"Bobby has a right to know when his daughter is _hoeing_ around town." Dean was a fresh 16 years old, only just passing through town before taking five days to make up a little bit of the life he'd been missing.

"First of all, if you think I can get away with anything in this town, you're dumber than you look. Second of all, I don't need abstinence advice from a classic-rock-obsessed-man-whore! I'm practically an adult! I am old enough to kiss whoever I want!"

Bobby smirked from the porch, proud of his adoptive son for watching out for his girl.

A woman with fuller hips and a bored agitation stood back from the scene. It was a memory she relived frequently over the years, but she had never witnessed it from a distance before. In fact, being aware that she was dreaming was new, too. The sun set and as she turned toward what she knew was next to unfurl, the sound of fluttering caused a pause in her chest.

"Castiel, is that really you, or a part of my dream?" Her eyes begrudgingly moved over his back; a churning of uncertainty plagued her stomach. Ice blue eyes were locked at the teenagers perched onto the hood of a car, giggling and snuggled a little too closely for his liking.

"Your'ridic…lus!" A giggle erupted from her soft, girlish belly and he felt his eyes narrow when Dean's hand snaked his way to rest there.

"Hey, you know me. Ridiculous is my middle name."

"N'is _Edward_. Dean _Edward_ Win'ster." She slurred with a mischievous smirk as the world almost spun around them as its center. How many drinks had it been?

"I like the way you say that," Dean groaned as he closed the distance even further, his hand continued dangerously up her torso. Castiel felt a small breeze as the dark salvage yard was suddenly replaced by the sun and salt, he was growing accustomed to.

"That made me uncomfortable."

Poppie muttered, "Me, too," as he turned to face her. A small wash of relief fell over him as his eyes adjusted to the older version of her. "If it makes you feel any better, I was about to kick him in the balls and go to bed."

He nodded.

"You're upset with me." His voice was confused, though it wasn't a question, and it caused her eyes to lock onto his reluctantly.

"I could lie, but that wouldn't work, would it?" She paused, almost as if hoping she could, but he shook his head. "I heard you when you… transported me back to the motel. You thought I was an abomination."

His face twisted. "I've never heard of anything having the abilities you do. No psychic or demon, none the less a human girl. The night after the witnesses, I was hurt by the lightning storm in your dream. It should not have been possible, and I should have told the other Angels immediately. Hiding you from Uriel was foolish." Another pause and his head and shoulders stiffened. He thought over his next words thoroughly as he formed his confession, "Angels are taught that emotion is a cardinal sin that leads us to question our orders." He paused again and studied the woman.

Her face was incredibly soft for a hunter. Her eyes, that currently resembled dinner plates, were a bright, inescapable blue. Though he knew her Mother's had been green, and her Father's eyes were brown. It was another genetic impossibility. Her blond hair was almost white in the right light, but not wholly unnatural. When he concentrated on her presence, she wrapped him in an energy that was full of warmth and kindness. But if he pushed a little further, there was a fire that could burn entire kingdoms, just below the surface.

"I didn't tell Heaven. I defied my orders." He broke their eye contact to look at his feet in shame. Poppie took a step toward him, her arm reaching out reflexively to comfort him, but he jerked back. He almost expected her touch to actually burn, "I came to tell you that I won't be visiting you anymore, but I will still uphold my orders as your Guardian."

"Cas, I don't understand." Her heart felt like it was breaking, and she honestly didn't know why. His hand brushed her cheek, and then she was alone again.

Poppie awakened in a dark room, the warmth from his brief touch quickly receded into cold loneliness. Her covers were thrown away as her legs pulled themselves off the bed quickly. She treaded quietly through the dusty house as she avoided waking her father or the Winchester brothers, who had arrived very late the previous night and passed out in the library.

Poppie continued her quest out the back door and into the yard until a familiar rusted car with a cracked windshield came into view. Her steps became more even as she neared its security. When she finally reached it, her fingers smoothed over the dusty window and she released a ragged breath. The part of the yard was so rarely visited these days that the weeds and rust had over taken it since that night back in '95. She smiled despite herself as she remembered the satisfying connection of her knee to Dean's family jewels the first and last time he'd ever tried anything.

Her ears twitched toward the sound of heavy footsteps approaching behind her. She had woken someone up.

"I'm sorry, I just needed a minute." The hunter inside her reacted too slowly. Maybe it was the altercation with Castiel, or the false sense of security of being home.

Sharp metal crashed against her skull, and everything went black.

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

Cold sweat mixed with blood as it melted into her stinging eyes. The place was dark, the hard concrete beneath her was icy and wet. Her slow to the punch reflexes kicked in. _**So, who does this rats' nest belong to?**_ Poppie studied her surroundings as best she could, and felt her stomach drop at the discovery of a small pile of ivory and brown speckled sticks with gnawed ends. Then a second a few feet away. _**Oh. Hmmm…**_

Her nails tapped against the rope that bound them to her back. It didn't budge. "Cas? Are you out there by any chance?"

"Oh, fly boy won't be joining us tonight, sweetheart." A devilish smile peaked from behind a dirty wall. The body was a harsh divergence to the disgusting lair, a woman with curves artfully tucked into an outfit that cost more than all the car parts in Singer Salvage. Brown eyes filled with black ink and Poppie's blood ran cold. "I hear your heart pounding..." Pointed shoes made echoing footsteps toward the blonde hunter, stopping inches from her face, "It's almost irresistible."

Poppie shivered as the fingers that brushed her cheek felt even colder than the sewer cavern. "Don't touch me. You. Demonic. Bitch." Her lips spat the words like venom, bringing a little warmth back into her core. The feeling of nails cutting through the soft skin of her neck extinguished it harshly.

"Don't be cruel, pet. Straight to the point then." The demon twisted the tongue of its current meatsuit into the accent of a posh English woman. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, and her grey pant suit was tailored to perfection. "I'm only here to make you a deal, King of the Crossroads and all that. Well, I'd have to say Queen now, wouldn't I?" The demon laughed at some inside joke before continuing, "I had wanted our first meeting to be on better terms, but who would have known that Poppie Singer would get bested by a simple Ghoul."

Her eyes narrowed at her own dumb mistake. "What do you want?" She was in a bind, at least she could hear the thing out. Every horrible conclusion raced through her mind; an eternity in the pit being tortured, becoming the very thing she spent years training to fight. Hell, even just her father finding out she considered making a deal after what Dean had done scared the crap out of her.

"Oh, nothing much, a trifle really…Just your voice." The demon said, standing over the tied-up huntress.

The young Singer's eyebrows shot up, "I'm sorry…what?" The woman above her just shook with laughter at another joke that Poppie couldn't find any humor in.

"Couldn't resist. But no, what I need is just a little quid pro quo. If those Winchester's fail and Lucifer rises, I need friends on all sides. I help you out here, get that Angel boy toy on an express train to saving you, and later you give me the B.O.T.D. _Capisce_?" She blinked.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess…" _**This demon doesn't know about my direct line to Angel Radio then…**_ Before she could finish the thought, she was off the cold ground and rigid lips were on her own. Her heart stopped and the now familiar sensation of moving through space enveloped her body.

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

" _Where is she, 'Cas'?_ " Dean had awoken to the sound of a struggle and felt his blood curdle to discover her absence. When he had searched the entire yard to no avail, he immediately prayed to the Angel for steeled toes crunched gravel next to the car he and Poppie had spent a hundred summer nights on and a sickening pool of fresh blood.

There was nothing.

"Castiel?! Come on now, you dick. I know you have the hots for her, so where. The fuck. Is she? If you got her mixed up in some crazy Angel shit, I'll rip your wings off." His voice growled into a yell and a loud bang echoed as his fist connected to the car.

"How would I know wher—What happened?" Startled blue eyes fell to the red puddle in front of the angry Winchester, and the words caught in his throat. Dean let out an agitated breath at the apparent idiot before taking a few steps toward the house.

"She's gone. I was hoping with you, but then we found that." He pointed, needlessly, to the object of Castiel's attention. "Can you like... I don't know Angel magic her location?"

"I should be able to… but…" Then he disappeared.

"Damnit!" Dean kicked the side of the car.

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

Castiel ripped at the fabric of space. His wings roared with strain as he flew faster than he ever had, desperate to find any trace of her. Anywhere. He didn't stop as he flitted through state after state, Heaven and Hell. She wasn't in the pit, there wasn't a Heaven prepared for her.

He had only hours ago resolved to never see the woman again, but as he tore through the Midwest, the idea of her being gone had his chest radiating fear. There was no sign of the woman, no flutter of her pulse, no pulling in the direction of her disembodied soul. She was alive, and she was hidden from him. It wasn't a comforting thought.

 _ **The Singer girl has been taken. She must be located.**_

He sent the phrase to every Angel in existence, desperate to hear that someone had seen her.

 _ **It is insignificant. She is not needed for our plans.**_

His body reeled to a halt as the wall of words hit him. He knew if they understood the full ramifications of her abduction then they would tear apart the universe until they found her. A human who could access their communications. There wouldn't be a second thought before they blew away whatever obstacle stood between them and Poppie Singer. Then Poppie Singer herself, or even worse than killing her, they could turn her into a soldier like himself.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

 _ **Poppie Singer can—**_

A pulse in the whole of reality stopped his message and diverted his rampage back to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. His words were lost in Angel Radio as the other Angels conducted every day business, unaffected. He was grateful for their insensitivity, even if a moment ago it filled him with what he could only describe as rage. This woman and his time on Earth had made him feel so many things.

"Where is she?" He flew into the living room of Bobby Singer's house. Before anyone could answer, his eyes focused on her unconscious figure. He didn't wait for a response as he walked to her and placed two fingers on her forehead.

"Hey, _asshat,_ get your fingers off of my daughter!" Bobby leapt up from his perch beside the recliner, but Castiel put his hand up in defiance. Poppie shot up from her resting place, gasping for air and flinging her arms to the first thing that could ground her. The tan coat lapels of the Angel.

 _ **Thank the Heavens. She is safe.**_

 _ **I thought he wasn't coming around anymore.**_

 _ **I am your Guardian. I thought I failed.**_

They stopped and stared at each for a long, pregnant moment. The three other men in the room shifted uncomfortably. "Uhm, Pops are you okay?" Dean broke the silence and closed the distance between him and the wide-eyed couple.

"Did… Did you hear that?" Poppie asked slowly.

 _ **Can you hear this?**_ She sent another thought into the intense stare in front of her.

 _ **Yes.**_

 _ **How about this?**_

 _ **Yes.**_

 _ **And this?**_

"Hello? Earth to Space Cadets? You guys… like doing it in there?" Dean joked, and Bobby huffed.

"No, uh… We just had a conversation. Like a two sided one." Her hands dropped awkwardly as she stood up from the chair where she had been sitting on up on her knees.

"A _silent_ one?" Bobby chided as he, too, stood up and crossed to examine his daughter. He straightened her toward him and swiped over the dried blood on her cheek. "I don't like this." He looked into the frightened eyes of his baby girl, unsure where to go from here.

"I'm not so sure about it either. What do the other Angels think?" Dean's voice was hard and unsure as he turned to Castiel.

"They do not know." He didn't extrapolate on the thought, just continued to stare. There wasn't a single trace that indicated she was anything other than human. Her body was human, her soul was human. Her scent was very pleasant to his vessel's nose, but human all the same. "How did you get here?"

"I was taken by a ghoul… but this demon showed up an—" Bobby cut her off by squeezing his hands on her shoulders in shock, "Ow, dad. Ease up. She wanted to make me a deal, said she was King of the Crossroads. Or Queen… It was really confusing."

"And you told it to take a hike, right?" Sam joined the interaction, damned if he were going to lose anyone else to the pits of Hell.

"Uh, well not exactly."

"GODDAMMIT, POPPIE! Have I taught you NOTHING?!" Bobby practically shook her as his exhaustion and stress over losing her boiled over at her confession.

"It just said that if Dean and Sam can't keep Lucifer from rising that it needed friends. Whatever that means…"

"Did she kiss you?" The oldest Winchester asked after a moment of silence, "Hot."

"Dean!


	5. Someday Soon

**A/N- Guys, I appreciate anyone still around! The first 4 chapters have all been completely rewritten and while they still hold a few mistakes that need editing, they are not going to face any major changes again! The next few chapters will still look familiar and I'll post a note on the first chapter of wholly original content. Hopefully I can get to the end this time; No more babies. I promise. ;)**

 _ **.**_

 _ **Chapter Five: Someday Soon**_

 **When he visits me my pa ain't got one good word to say,  
got a hunch he was as wild back in his early days.**

 **So, blow you old blue northern,**  
 **blow him back to me.**  
 **He's likely riding back from California,**  
 **Loves his damn ole rodeo as much as he loves me.**  
 **Someday soon, going with him, someday soon.**  
 **Someday soon, going with him, someday soon.**

.

 **June 2008**

 _"You're delusional if you think you know what I'm going through. He was_ my _brother." Sam said through gritted teeth. Poppie stood in front of him, the hurt on her face was instant and he couldn't care less if she'd been a stranger. "We humored you, but you're not our family. You're nothing. You weren't there when our dad beat us into his perfect little militia. You were too busy having princess tea parties with Bobby. Don't try to tell me you know what it's like. My whole family is dead! I'm completely alone."_

 _The blond felt tears on her numbing cheeks before his words even fully registered. They stood over the remains of the third crossroads demon Sam had killed this week as he held Ruby's knife tight in his hand. Sam felt himself twitch as a drop of hot red syrup ran down the hilt and over his knuckles. His anger fought the overpowering hunger with a wildfire fire that raged in his chest and blinded him with its intensity._

 _She had followed him when his absences had become too frequent, too suspicious to ignore. When she'd heard his demand from the shadows, she'd jumped in and stopped any deal from taking place. The desperate brother had seen red at the intrusion and stabbed the demon before it could escape. Now he practically shook the knife in her direction, all semblance of the Sam she knew missing from his actions._

 _"Sammy. What do you think Dean would say if he were still here?" Her voice was soft and broken._

 _"He'd probably be pissed to find out that two people, he wrongly thought had his back, aren't even trying to get him out of hell!" His words were venom and fueled by pain he could never truly express. Sam lost track of himself these days and it felt like he was watching his own actions from a faraway place inside himself._

 _"You think that's what we're doing? Nothing?! We've called every hunter we've ever met, and I don't know if you've met my dad, Sam, but that's a fucking lot! We're pulling 10 books off the shelves a day! We fought tooth and nail for a year to keep him top-side and we're fighting to bring him back now. Just because we aren't jumping to take the easy way out and sell our soul doesn't mean we don't care! It just means we aren't STUPID!" Hate overtook her sadness with a vengeful bite. The weeks had been filled with feeling sorry for herself, for her dad, and especially for Sam. She'd ignored his behavior, his shady dealings and the way the life seemed to drain a little more from his eyes every day. It was too much now. Now, she was pissed._

 _He saw red. The large man lunged, and it was too fast, she hadn't expected it and only had time to brace for the connection of the knife._

 _Only, it didn't come._

 _Bright light flooded the field they occupied and stopped Sam dead in his tracks. He blinked a few times before realizing himself. The fear, hurt and shame flooded into his eyes as the light, which must have been someone's headlights, dissipated. He barely looked at her before he ran to the impala and drove away._

 _It was another month before she heard from him again._

.

 **November 2008**

"Mmmmm, bacon." Poppie's concentration was broken when Dean's fingers swiped a still sizzling piece of salted pork from her frying pan.

"Are you crazy? There's some on a plate right there!" She turned to watch in horror as the older hunter stuffed an entire searing strip of bacon into his mouth.

"But this is fresh, I like mine raw!"

"I didn't realize I was making breakfast for a Rurgaru. Next time I'll just open the package and save myself the trouble." She rolled her eyes when he just muffled a quick thanks and pulled a plate from the cabinet. "When are you two leaving anyway? It's been like, _weeks_." She turned back to her stove as a crackle of hot oil singed the back of her arm, reminding her to recover the pan.

"It's been like _one_ week. You tired of us or something? We're only here to keep your dumb ass safe. Worse than a civilian, I swear. Who goes out 'to think' _alone_ at four in the morning?" His green eyes flashed over her briefly before he scooped a healthy serving of scrambled eggs onto a plate.

"It was a rough night, okay? And I'm not tired of you, just the extra dishes and laundry. At least Sam helps from time to time. If I have to fold another pair of your forever stained undies, I'm going to catch chlamydia." Her nose wrinkled, "By the way, there's a bag of new clothes, underwear included, in the doorway. I threw away the last pair of syphilis yesterday. I don't _even know_ what you're wearing right now."

Dean's face lit up like a Christmas tree, "That's because I'm not wearing anything!" His hips swayed back and forth in a demonstrative dance.

"Agggh, gross!" Dirty fingers raced to cover her eyes, but the image of Dean's outlined bulge was seared into her brain for eternity.

"The ladies love it." He smoothed as he sat down with a satisfied grin. Poppie gagged theatrically before dumping the last of the breakfast meat onto a platter on the kitchen table.

"We're leaving today. Sammy found what he thinks is a caf-se." He stuffed his mouth midsentence and garbled over the last word. "Care to make ufs a goin'way prfsent?" He made his most endearing face around an overflowing mouth of food in an effort to score one last home-cooked meal.

"Yeah, yeah. Your cooler is full of sandwiches. Freeloader." Poppie smirked at her brother and his eyes twinkled like they hadn't since their childhood. "How could I send my boys out to the front lines without some comforts from home?"

"This looks great, Pops!" Sam ducked past the doorway and sat down at the table, dark spots growing around his neck and under his arms. The woman immediately turned back to her cooking, and Dean made the mental note to sit her the fuck down when they got back from his hunt. He'd given them enough time to work out whatever happened while he was gone, and he was sick of it.

"You reek, bro. You better shower before you even _think_ about getting in my car." He said, his nose wrinkled much like Poppie's did at his underwear. "Eat up, we're gonna head out after you've cleaned yourself. Pops made sandwiches!" He jumped from his seat with his empty plate and another strip of bacon between his teeth. "I'm going to go make sure everything's ready to go." And with that, he threw his dish into the sink and bounded out of the kitchen.

It was the first time they'd been alone without Poppie fleeing like a scared kitten. She insisted she was fine, but Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew he'd crossed so many lines and said almost every unacceptable thing he could think of on purpose. His memory of the last summer was blurry at best, and still he remembered that. The woman had given him more understanding than he deserved and kept the extent of his discretions from Dean and Bobby. He didn't even know how they'd react if they knew.

"Uh, I know you don't want to talk about what happened. I understand that. I want to forget it, too." He cleared his throat but continued before she could stop him again, "But what I did was unacceptable, and I can't imagine for one second you've actually forgiven me. I haven't forgiven me."

Her back straightened as she continued to clean the kitchen without looking his direction. She'd done so well to avoid this conversation and she was almost home-free, too. When she didn't try to stop him or say anything at all, he kept going.

"How do you even look at me?"

The crack in his voice had her turning to meet his gaze, but she instantly regretted it. Memories flashed before her eyes and her throat threatened to close. "Because I know that thing wasn't you. You were hurting, and no permeant harm was done." She quickly turned to finish washing the dishes. He stood and walked beside her at the sink, picking up a towel and drying the dishes she set on the counter.

"You're a better person than I could ever be."

Poppie couldn't hold the remark back, "You would be surprised at how easy it is to forgive someone you consider family, even if they don't think the same of you."

His shoulders fell, but he swallowed and finished drying the dish in his hand before putting it away and looking at the woman beside him. "Poppie, I am so sorry I said that. You're more our family than anyone else Dean or I have ever had. You've done nothing but love and look after us and I can't believe what I put your through."

She stopped washing and turned to address him before Bobby's entrance into the kitchen cut her off. "Did I miss breakfast again? Why you cookin' so early?"

Poppie turned back to the sink and laughed, "It's 12 pm, Dad. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a drunk."

"That's because you know I'm a drunk. Got any leftovers?" He noticed the guilt on Sam's face before it completely disappeared.

"There's a made plate in the microwave. Just hit go." The last dish was washed and sitting in the taller Winchester's pile when she made the announcement that she was going to see if Dean needed any help with the impala. Her retreat may have been a little faster than it needed to be, but she had to escape. She found him bent under the hood and made an extra effort to make her footsteps loud enough to keep from sneaking upon him.

"What do you want, squirt?" He pulled the rod from the hood and clicked it shut with practiced ease.

"You're three months older than me, jerk. I just came to see if you needed any help getting ready to go. I'm going crazy in there. I haven't been home this long since high school." Poppie opened the back seat and started to rearrange the cooler to make the soda and sandwiches accessible from the driver's side.

"When's the last time you've been on a hunt?" Dean looked her over for the millionth time since her abduction, almost like he thought he would find something important he'd missed before. She still looked way too skinny, her skin was a little paler than what he considered healthy and her eyes held onto more than she was willing to share.

"If you don't count the witnesses and my Mexican vacation? The night you died."

"That was, like, six months ago." His voice was incredulous, and he honestly, he was almost impressed. It didn't upset him one bit that she'd been out of trouble while he wasn't around.

"I just couldn't leave him, you know?" Her eyes traveled back to the house momentarily. "He was just already hurting too much; I couldn't add to that by making him worry about me, too. But now it's just getting ridiculous. You got time travel, a ready-made monster movie, and a real-life giant teddy bear. I've gotten very specific telepathic abilities and a reminder to take a chaperone on late night walks." Poppie shut the Impala's back door and leaned against it.

"Why don't you head out with us for a while? I mean, if you can handle being around Sam for more than five minutes. Don't think I haven't noticed that whole can of worms. Care to enlighten me?" He folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned beside her, looking down with squinted eyes.

She hesitated and chose her words carefully, "Your death was hard on all of us, Dean. Sam most of all. He ran off and did his best to make sure we didn't follow him. That's all." Her fingers moved to nervously pull and twist at the ends of her hair subconsciously and she stood up straight. "If it's okay with Sam, I'd love to get out of here for a while. I'm afraid I'm gonna lose my edge."

Dean scoffed as he followed her back to the house, "The only edge about you is how close you get to the edge of my sanity, Pansy."

"Fuck you." She rolled her eyes at the childhood nickname and pushed the door open, heading into the study, "Hey, Dad, I'm thinking of going with the boys for a while, if it's okay with Sam." Her father looked up from his book, a little surprised at the sudden declaration.

"Now? Why? What am I supposed to do with my best helper gone?"

Yes now, and because I've been sitting here for the better part of a half a year and I'm going to lose my mind. As for you, now you can go help that hot lady hunter in the tropics without worrying about me." She gave him that award-winning smile and wink he'd never been able to argue with.

"Yeah, _great_. I'm just chomping at the bit to stuff myself into a cramped airplane for 10 hours." Bobby gruffed before looking back to his book.

"That's awesome! Bye, Dad!"

"Pops, wait just a gosh-darned minute. Give me a proper goodbye, things can go south fast out there." He motioned to her, already halfway out the front door, while he stood up to meet her. His arms wrapped around her small form and for a moment, his heart ached with worry. "I wish I could just lock you up in the panic room with your old Barbies and a cassette player forever."

"Well, that'd be hard since they stopped selling cassette players in 2003, and also since I never played with Barbies, but I get the sentiment, Dad. I really do." She said muffled against his flannel.

"No, girl. You really don't, and you won't until… if you have a kid of your own. It's like I'm sending my heart out to fight monsters. Please be careful. Throw Dean or Sam out like a human shield. They don't stay dead for that long." He let a dark chuckle escape before pushing her to arm's length, a frequent position of theirs. His hands draped over her shoulders, "You're all I got left, Poppie Ann, and if you die out there, I'll bring you back and kill you myself."

His only daughter snorted. It had been hard on them since Dean died and it had been even harder since he came back. Not much had really happened, in fact, not _enough_ happened. It almost felt like the calm before the storm, and they both felt the hurricane brewing on the horizon. "Okay, okay. I'll be back before you probably."

It had been a heavy few months and she had let it keep her home. Aside from Samhain, which she hadn't really been a part of, and when she had been kidnapped, which hadn't been her choice. Her heart almost skipped with excitement as she threw her bag in the trunk and climbed into the familiar backseat of that beautiful classic car.

 _ **SPN**_

"Brian, come on, man, just one more. Just..." A burp tried to erupt from his throat with a little something more with it, "...Just give me a chance to win it back." Sam slurred his words.

"It's your cash." He licked his lips as he said a little prayer of thanks to whatever God smiled down on him tonight. He had already beaten this drunk Sasquatch once, and it would just be easy pickin's to do it again.

"Excuse me, sir, my little brother is a little too drunk to be playing for cash. Don't you think?" Poppie moseyed up to the pool table with a wide smile, her chest ever so slightly leading the way. The case Sam had originally found had been a bust, so they pulled into a town to set up shop and find another. Currently, they were blowing off steam in a dive bar. Her usual T-Shirt and jeans were replaced with a black tank top and denim shorts that could've been a size larger.

"He insisted, Darlin. _Please_ , call me Brian." He smiled, sickly-sweet, at the tall blond that leaned over the table, but he was no idiot. He knew where this was going, and some dime piece wasn't going to keep him from his money. Even if she did have an incredible rack.

"Yeah, _Brian_ , but you've already taken, what, two bills off him? I'm just saying." Dean came up behind Poppie with his shoulder's broad with defiance. He slid over to stand between her and Sam. He scowled at the man challenging his brother in this state.

"Hey, shut up, guys. I'm fine." The large, obviously impaired, the man slipped into the pool table. Poppie laced her arm around his waist to steady him with a mask of absolute worry on her face.

"No, you're not fine. You're drunk!" Dean's anger was betrayed through the staccato of his words.

"Let's make it five hundred." Sam thrust the bills toward the dirty biker on the pool table, setting his beer onto the small stack to keep it together.

"Five _hundred_?" Poppie asked incredulously, trying hard to hold Sam and his weight steady as he placed the money on the table.

"Sure." Brian bit back his excitement. Five hundred dollars would buy quite a few beers and the best part was that, in cash, his wife would never know how much he drank. Maybe he'd even buy her a little something nice to butter her up. "Five hundred. Your break."

Sam pulled away from Poppie with complete stability before lining up his shot and sending several balls into the adjacent pockets. Dean smirked as their scam went off without a hitch but raised his eyebrows when Sam locked eyes on something behind him and stiffened his back.

"Keep the money." The younger Winchester placed the pool cue down and walked right past his flabbergasted brother, Poppie's mouth open in confusion.

"Keep the money? What –" Dean made an inaudible snarl when his eyes locked on Sam's target, his feet pulled him quickly behind him and Poppie fell in line, unsure of what was happening.

"Guys? That was like our last five hun—"

"Hey." Sam cut her off, and Poppie recognized the brunette from the hotel all those months ago.

"Oh, _Ruby_." She muttered, remembering the stories Dean had filled her in on while she had been on shore leave. It hurt to know that Sam had still been at it this whole time and that she enabled him by not telling Dean sooner. It hurt more to know his persistent attempts at apologizing for his actions last Summer had been complete bullshit.

"Well, you got a lot of nerve showing up anywhere near me." She heard the older brother growl, but Ruby seemed wholly unimpressed. Her hands left the glass she had been nursing on the bar, and her brown eyes lit up when they met Sam's. Poppie noticed.

"I just have some info, and then I'm gone." Her lips pursed as she waited for the boys' response, her eyes trailing quickly over the woman hanging pointedly behind them as she waited.

"What is it?" Sam said impatiently, drawing the demon's attention back to himself.

"I'm hearing a few whispers."

"Ooh, _great_ , demon whispers. That's reliable." Dean threw his hands up and stomped in a frustrated circle around the dirty bar floor. It was around 6 pm, not early but too early to be in a dingy bar. The sun shone through the slatted and tinted windows and shadows played across the demon's face. For a minute, Poppie thought she saw a black glimmer coming from the demon, but the room was far too dark to tell.

"Girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday. The demons seem pretty keen on finding her. Apparently, some real heavy hitters turned out for the Easter-egg hunt." Her voice was soft as she spoke, uncertainty dripped from her words like the rain outside the shuttered window.

"Why? Who is she?" Sam said.

Ruby felt her eyes trail down Sam's body as he stood in front of her, assertive, "No idea. But I'm thinking that she's important, 'cause the order is to capture her alive. I just figured that whatever the deal is, you might want to find this girl before the demons do." She swallowed, and it got stuck in her throat. Sam nodded.

"Look, maybe we should check it out."

Dean's face contorted to match his anger, "Actually, we're working a case, but thanks."

"What case?" Ruby chided, playing dumb, an 'innocent' smile framed her face.

A fight broke out behind the group and something crashed hard through the window behind Ruby. Sun spilled through the bar; It reflected off the bar, stained glass light shades and…

"Oh my god!" Poppie's head thrust forward and her arms wrapped around her stomach as it churned. A black-morphing cloud of pure evil filled her stomach with a vomit-inducing roar. The dark agitated energy permeated with hot, intense bile. A demon's true face.

"Poppie? Are you okay?" Dean wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto the barstool she had almost knocked over. "Pops?" He shook her another moment and where muddled fear had clouded her eyes, it was overtaken with clarity.

"Are you kidding me?! This is not happening." Poppie stood up and stormed toward the entrance of the bar. The patrons of which we're sure they were witnessing a woman storm out after a bar fight, not one discovering the ability to see demons. "I'll be in the impala! You wrap this up here."

"Let's go, Sammy," Dean growled with warning as he trailed behind the blond that he was now absolutely positive was losing her mind.

"Wait, wait, wait. This hospital Anna escaped from; it got a name?"

 _ **SPN**_

"Can I get a copy of the missing person's report…? Great…Okay. Thanks." Sam Winchester snapped closed a small, black plastic cell phone and turned with a great effort toward his brother, who currently sat in the driver's seat of a '67 black impala. "Well, Anna Milton's definitely real."

"Don't mean the case is real. This hospital's a three-day drive, and Poppie is back there losing her damn mind. Maybe we should go to the hospital." Dean smirked into the rearview mirror at the woman he had known for over 20 years as she wiped a tear from her eye.

"Very funny, Dean. You went to hell, you know what those motherfuckers look like. Let me tell you, it ain't pretty." Poppie Singer felt the contents of her stomach continue to twist. No matter how many miles they created between themselves and Ruby, it wasn't enough.

"We've driven further for less, Dean… You got something to say, say it."

"Oh, I'm saying it. This sucks." Dean spat as he slapped his hands against the steering wheel.

"You're not pissed we're going after the girl. You're pissed Ruby threw us the tip." Sam spat back with the same veracity.

"Right. Because as far as you're concerned, the hell-bitch is practically family. Yeah, boy, something major must've happened while I was downstairs. Because I come back, and you're BFFs with a demon? I mean, look what she did to Poppie!" Dean motioned to the back seat again, and sheepishly the young woman knew she had to look like a wreck. She had seen a ton of demons in her day, but they had never looked like that. She'd even seen _that_ demon before a _ton_ of times. It was appearing more and more that something big was coming, and the closer it got, the more it fucked everything up.

The boys continued to argue but Poppie's eyes felt heavy. The trees blurred as they passed at full speed. Before long the darkness of sleep overtook her.


	6. Heaven is Missing an Angel

_**Chapter Six: Heaven is Missing an Angel**_

 _ **You came into my life like an answer to a prayer  
Like a star that falls from the sky right out of thin air  
Some might say it's a miracle or a dream come true  
But from that day I always knew…**_

 _ **Heaven is missing an angel  
That's the only thing that it can be  
Heaven is missing an angel  
Cause you're right here with me**_

.

"Your heart is racing at an alarming rate."

Grey walls that were decorated with photos that were indiscernible in the dim flicker of a nearby candle, framed her. Soft wool the color of blue midnight cocooned her body and her chin rested on the heel of her hand. Poppie's elbow rested on the arm of grey wool sofa. She was dreaming.

"Castiel." She darted up and with a quick motion the stale familiar scent of the book she had been reading filled her nose. "I… Uhm, it's a little confusing when you pop into my dreams. It's easy to tell when you're not here, but when you show up everything seems more … real. I'm finding it hard to remember what happened before I fell asleep. I am asleep, right?"

Her eyes slowly drew over the living room around her. There was dark brown hardwood floor, with a blue shag rug underneath the feet of the Angel's vessel. The ceilings were high and smooth white, with a ceiling fan that gave a gentle breeze to the room. It was so real now. Castiel's presence took away the cloudy distortion of a regular dream and made everything so vivid. She could even smell the faint presence of a freshly baking pie. It had been months since she made a pie. Six.

"You were in an establishment of low moral fiber." His words were critical and, as always, his voice scratched the back of his throat with every syllable. Unlike her amazement in their surroundings, Castiel felt little curiosity. He had been here before, an invisible protector, many times. He assumed long ago that the beach, or this house would be what her Heaven would look like. When he either failed at his mission or successfully carried her into old age. Either scenario filled him with an uncertain emptiness that could almost be construed as sadness.

"Oh, the bar." Her stomach lurched again with memories that threatened to pull her from her sleep and far from the Angel. "Ruby's face."

"Hideous creatures, aren't they?" His intense stare lowered from hers and onto the ground, "They will rule the Earth if Lucifer rises."

"How come I can see them now?"

"You must give Anna to us."

 _ **SPN**_

The trio stood in front of a non-descript family home, not unlike the one from Poppie's dream. She had awoken to Dean slamming his door, left with Cas's chilling demand and no explanation. Her mind ran in circles as the boys investigated the hospital and soon they were on the way to Anna's house.

"Maybe they're not home." Dean suggested lightly and full of unprecedented hope.

Sam looked around and shook his head sadly, "Both cars in the driveway." They somberly entered the unlocked house, their senses on high alert.

"Mr. And Mrs. Milton?" Dean called as his hand reached toward the pearl handle of his favorite gun, he lightly stepped through the front door of America's nuclear family with a pang of jealousy.

"We're from the sheriff's department. We just wanted to ask you a couple of questions." Poppie called as she rounded the corner to the living room and stopped dead in her tracks. "Uh. Found em…"

Sam knelt down to check a yellow powder that lay conspicuously next to the couple, "Sulfur. The demons beat us here. Whatever the deal is with this Anna girl –"

"Yeah, they want her and they're not screwing around. All right, so, I'm 'Girl, Interrupted,' and I know the score of the apocalypse. Just busted out of the nut-box... Possibly using superpowers, by the way. Where do I go?" Dean's voice boomed through the empty house and into Poppie's head with a new raking irritation.

"Not just the demons. The Angels want her, too." Her hands rubbed across her tired eyes and around her temples. The boys gave her surprised and narrowing expressions respectively, but she couldn't see them, just feel their pointed glances. "Castiel visited me while I was passed out in the car. He said, 'You must give Ana to us.' Honestly, I wasn't sure it was really him until we walked in here. And save the attitude Dean, please." The oldest of the three hunters only huffed while they continued to search the house for answers.

Sam broke the heavy silence first with a family photo in hand, "Hey, you got those sketches from Anna's notebook?

 __ _ **SPN**_

The trio quietly made their way into the dark church attic. The only light filtered through the stained-glass window from Anna's sketches. Poppie felt Dean and Sam at her flanks, the weight of their weapons pulled at her conscious. This girl had a normal life 3 months ago, and now they were meeting her with guns out stretched? It didn't feel right, but her experience told her better than to question it.

"Dean." Poppie motioned towards a person hiding in the shadows in front of them. "Anna? We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help. My name is Poppie and these are my friends, Sam and Dean."

"Sam? Not Sam Winchester." She stepped out from the darkness, "Poppie Singer?" Her voice resonated in the hall with amazement. She stood about the same height as the young Singer, with fiery red hair and ice blue eyes that were wild and shocked, almost like a trapped animal. Her skin was pale, and she looked manic and malnourished.

The younger brother was the first to respond to the questioning, "Uh, yeah."

Anna looked to Dean with eyes full of adoration, "And you're Dean. _The_ Dean?"

"Well, yeah. _The_ Dean, I guess." He said with a puff to his chest and a raised eyebrow to his little brother. The only appropriate response was a roll of their eyes.

"It's really you. Oh, my god. The angels talk about you. You were in Hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us. And some of them don't like you at all." She eyed Sam with trepidation, and squinted toward the girl, before continuing. "They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you."

"So, you talk to angels?" Dean took a test step forward to gage the woman's reaction, but she didn't recoil. Instead she met him with a step of her own.

"Oh, no. No, no way. Um, they probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of... overhear them." Her words continued to bounce like she hadn't spoken to anyone in months.

Poppie felt her eyebrows raise to her hairline like a cartoon, "You overhear them? From a distance?"

"Yeah, they talk, and sometimes I just... hear them in my head. Of course, I've never met an Angel before!"

"Like... right now?" Poppie asked while she looked over shoulder for any sign of Heaven's warriors, avoiding the enthusiastic response from the young woman in front of them.

"Not right this second, but a lot. And I can't shut them out, there are so many of them." Anna held her hand to her face with fear and sincere vulnerability.

"So, they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just... tuning in to angel radio?" Dean inquired with a glance to Poppie. He just to wrap his mind around the fact that she had just out done on the weird Angel telepathy spectrum.

Anna bounded with joy, "Yes. Thank you!"

Sam continued the line of questioning, "Anna, when did the voices start? Do you remember?"

"I can tell you exactly - September 18th."

Poppie closed the distance between her and Anna, placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

 _ **Wow, he's cute. If the things they say are true, Sam drinks demon blood. I wonder if he'd hurt me… and this girl is standing way too close to me.**_ Poppie snapped her hand back as a rush of adrenaline blurred her vision. Her lips hadn't moved, had she just read her mind? No way.

Dean was looking at Sam, seemingly oblivious to the interaction, "The day I got out of Hell."

Anna stared Poppie down with a perplexed side glance before she turned to Dean with a softer look and confessed, "First words I heard, clear as a bell – 'Dean Winchester is saved.'"

His eyes swept the dingy attic as his head swam, "What do you think?"

"It's above my pay grade, man." Sam simply shook his head, bewildered. Four years ago, he was at Stanford, living with a beautiful woman who shared his life aspirations and two-week-old take out in the fridge. Now all the trouble he had gotten himself into while Dean was in Hell didn't hold a candle to the danger that lie in front of them.

"Well, at least now we know why the demons want you so bad. They get a hold of you, they can hear everything the other side's cooking. You're 1-900-angel." Poppie narrowed her eyes at his remark, unsure of whether she wanted to feign offense and risk Anna finding out about her ability. Especially after her strange experience just a few minutes ago.

She decided to let it go, "We need to get out of here."

Anna gave a quick nod in agreement, and the feeling of safety over took her for the first time in months, "Hey, um, do you know… are my parents okay? I… I didn't go home. I was afraid," she asked.

Before they could exit the quiet church, the door pushed open under the force of Ruby's shaking hands. "You got the girl. Good, let's go." She demanded, as her fear and anxiety to leave grew more obvious. Poppy had only felt her stomach just start to churn at the site of the demon's true visage when Anna let out a blood curdling scream.

"Her face!" The boys grabbed her arms as her legs gave out and she fought to turn to flee. Poppie felt her head spin and she braced herself loosely on the wall nearby.

"Tell me about it." She groaned before stiffening. A surge of power jolted her muscles like an electric shock, something worse was close.

"It's okay. She's here to help." Sam said to Anna, the three obviously missing the presence she had felt.

"Yeah, don't be so sure." The older Winchester scoffed as he finally steadied Anna back to stand on her own feet.

Without missing a beat the panicking demon interjected, "We have to hurry."

"Why?"

"Shut up Dean, she's right. We have to go. Now." Poppie reached her hand out to his arm for emphasis, slightly concerned she may hear more than she bargained for. Her fingers rested heavily near the mark Castiel had left behind, but only silence filled Poppie's mind.

"Because a demon's coming. A big-timer. We can fight later, Dean." Ruby was pulling Sam toward the exit with a determination unsuited for a demon. The presence grew stronger and suddenly the appearance of Ruby's face was insignificant to the young Singer.

"Well, that's pretty convenient - showing up right when we find the girl with some bigwig on your tail? Poppie, what exactly are _you_ talking about?" He swept his dominance and lack of faith over them.

"I didn't bring him here. You did." Ruby spat.

"What?" Dean said, momentarily extinguished.

Ruby retorted, "He followed you from the girl's house. We got to go. Now."

Poppie's eyes widened as she looked past the squabble to a marble statue near the stained-glass window, "Dean."

Sam pointed as the full weight of the situation fell on him like the bloody tears of the statue.

They were screwed. Ruby suddenly stopped her fight to the door, "It's too late. He's here."


	7. Never Been a Hero

_**Chapter Seven: Not for Heroes**_

 _ **He gives it all he's got but it's never quite enough.**_ _ **  
**_ _ **Oh, the Lord and him alone know how he's tried.**_ _ **  
**_ _ **But he'll try and try again although he'll never win,**_ _ **  
**_ _ **And all that he's got goin' is his pride.**_ _ **  
**_ _ **He's never been a hero...**_

.

Poppie paced the dirt floor of the safe house while she checked the sigils and salt rounds for the one hundredth time. Alastair had effectively shaken her confidence as well as broken her shoulder in the church altercation. Dean had tried to bind her arm as best as he could with a hotel sheet, but she needed better supplies. She desperately wished she was left-handed as the shaky devil's traps were just close enough to work. Hopefully.

Anna sobbed as the news of her parents' demise filled her mind, why was this happening? First the voices and now her parents? And... "Oh, God."

"Poppie, it's okay to stop. We've done everything we—" Sam put his hand on Poppie's back to steady her. A heavy air pushed down on the blond hunter and caused her to stumble backwards toward the overgrown man. Thunder roared until the small shack started to quake under its might.

"They're… they're here!" Anna yelled. Poppie clung to Sam as the wind tore at their shelter, her heart stopping as the door flew open. Sam stepped defensively in front of her and Ruby shuffled Anna into a backroom with Dean's help. He saw the Angel first but Castiel's eyes were trained to another, someone behind him. They could feel the energy fill the room as it threatened to suffocate the young Singer.

"Please tell me you're here to help. We've been having demon issues all day." He took two assured steps toward Castiel but stopped as Uriel seethed at Ruby.

"Well, I can see that. You want to explain why you have that stain in the room?" Uriel looked down on the demon and stopped when a small but interesting presence pulled his attention behind the demon-fucker. Who was that? Poppie Singer. A simple human mutt but wait…There was something _else_ …

Castiel watched as curiosity pulled Uriel's features to rest on the still very shaken female Hunter. The make shift sling cradling her arm made her look even more fragile and small. "We're here for Anna."

Dean felt his newly relaxed muscles tense back into attack mode, "Here for her like... here for her?" His hand wrapped around the butt of his gun, tucked between the waist band of his boxers and tight denim of his jeans in the dip of his lower back. Anger overcame confusion as he realized they were truly on their own. 

"Stop talking. Give Anna to us." Uriel grew tired of the interaction, he longed for it to end, but watched closely as concentrated eyes pleaded at his associate from behind the largest Monkey.

"Are you gonna help her?" The same small woman spoke up. Castiel merely stared back, wishing their ability to communicate silently worked a little further away.

"No, she has to die." He saw the hurt, the anger and betrayal all at once. He wanted to tell her to keep her mouth closed, and not to draw attention to herself.

"You want Anna? Why?" Her voice was hard and shaky, fear grew in her stomach. If they wanted Anna dead, did that mean it was a matter of time before they came for her?

Uriel's interest was slightly piqued, what was this scent about this girl? He could feel the tension she caused Castiel. He needed a closer look, "Out of the way."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, I know Anna's wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it's no reason to gank her." Dean moved to block the dangerous creature from taking another step toward Anna, or his sister.

But Poppie stepped forward to face the man that had visited her dreams, "You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?" Her voice more confident than when she first spoke, and her wrath pushed her right into Castiel's face.

Her guardian Angel took the opportunity and in a flash of feigned annoyance grabbed the woman who dared question him, "I am your Guardian Angel, but that doesn't mean I will not do what I have to." He poured all the energy he could muster into his quick message to her.

 _ **Poppie you must BE QUIET. STAY DOWN. They do not know what you are!**_

Castiel roughly threw Poppie toward the room in which he felt Anna's presence and against his orders, hoped they would be safe together. When he saw her curl further into a ball, he felt himself demand harshly, "Now give us the girl."

Dean felt rage ignite in his chest like a forest fire. This was ending. Now. "Sorry. Get yourself another one. Try JDate."

Uriel laughed, "And who's gonna stop us? You two? This demon whore? Or perhaps the coward curled up in the corner." His hand flicked Ruby into the same direction as the aforementioned cowering girl. He didn't know what he thought he saw, but this girl was overwhelmingly useless. He could and would clear her right off the map.

Castiel stepped toward Sam, almost angry he didn't try harder to keep Poppie out of harm's way, "Cas, stop...please." But he put his finger to the man's forehead and he was asleep before he could fight back. Uriel attacked Dean with a smile on his face.

When Castiel wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the door pull, a warm set of fingers wrapped around the leg of his pants.

 _ **Castiel, why? Why are you going to hill her? She's like me, she can talk to Angels.**_

 _ **No, Poppie. She isn't like you. Please, you must trust me. She has to die.**_

 _ **No. I won't let you.**_

"I've been waiting for this." Uriel foamed as he raised his hand to smite Dean Winchester where he stood, but a bright flicker of searing energy started to pour from the cracks around the door. Castiel felt himself pushed and pulled all at once. Poppie recoiled from the burning sensation coming from the Angel.

"Poppie, are you okay? What happened? Where did they go?" Dean pulled her up beside him as he opened the door to where Anna still hid. Poppie rushed to the girl as blood dripped from the mirror in front of her and ran freely from the wound on the girl's wrist wrist. "Anna!" Dean wrapped his bandana around the wound quickly, Poppie mesmerized by what she had drawn on the mirror.

"Are they - are they gone?" Anna whispered, her eyes wide and mind swimming with what she'd just done.

"Anna, did you kill them?" Poppie whispered into her reflection between red drips. This symbol was completely new to her, the bruises peeking through her cheeks and bleeding forehead were not.

"No. I sent them away... far away." Her voice was a thousand miles away, and she was looking for it.

Dean looked down at her, "You want to tell me how?"

Anna stuttered, "Tha…That just popped in my head. I don't know how I did it. I just did it."

 _ **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**_

Poppie stood outside the door of her bathroom, the steam spilling through the cracks around the door. She had offered to watch over Anna so that she could have a minute to herself, and a new set of clothes without the blood stains. Her Father had left to help the hot hunter lady after all, so they'd arrived at an empty house.

The contents of her hex bag shifted in her fingers. Could Castiel still visit her dreams if she had it? Did she care? Her vision blurred as wet anger dripped down her cheeks. How could she care for this creature that so obviously wanted her dead? The anger flowed from her until it turned into desperation.

Dean had left a few hours ago to retrieve Pamela. Sam had uncovered enough information to warrant the psychics help and honestly Poppie was looking forward to seeing her. Her Dad had brought Pamela over a few times throughout her life. While she was an incorrigible flirt, she was also a bright feminine light in a dark world of male hunters.

"Poppie?" Anna's voice caused the blond to shoot up from where she had apparently sat down.

"Yeah?" Poppie cleared her throat and tried wiped the tears and snot that had pooled under her nose. Her red rimmed eyes looked toward the window and out onto Singer's Salvage and her polished light blue beauty. She would give anything to be behind the wheel right now, alone on the open road with her music and thoughts.

"We aren't the same."

"What?" The concerned woman's eyes shot to the girl, wide.

"I really don't know what it means, but before I sent them away, one of them kept thinking over and over again, 'They are not the same. They are not the same,' And that was it. I don't know what it means."

"We're back! Poppie, get Anna and your ass down here!" Dean yelled up the stairs, frustrated that they thought letting Anna out of the panic room to _shower_ was even remotely a good idea.

Poppie let the out a breath with a defeated sigh. "Come on, we better meet them in the basement."

When they got there, Sam greeted Pamela with a sympathetic uncertainty, "Pamela, hey!"

Poppie saw the small smirk on Pamela's face before it turned down into a look of confusion, "Sam?"

Poor Sam didn't stand a chance, "It's me. It's Sam," He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. She continued to look around and say his name, helplessly, "I'm right here."

"Oh. Know how I can tell?" And just like that, the play was gone, and Pamela's hands wrapped around Sam's backside with a loud clap, "That perky little ass of yours. You could bounce a nickel off that thing. Of course, I know it's you, grumpy. Same way I know that's a demon, and that poor girl's Anna and that you've been eyeing my rack."

Sam was caught, "Uh... uh... uh..." And Poppie couldn't contain the laughter.

Pamela turned to the stairwell, "Hey there, kiddo! What you been crying for?" Poppie's laughter stopped and her eyes narrowed. Sam and Dean turned toward her with a studying glance, but Pamela pulled their attention away once more, "Don't worry Sam, I still got more senses than most."

Sam nodded, "Got it." But his eyes swept back over to the young Singer, whose watched the floor.

Pamela walked to the Anna with a new confidence in her surroundings, "Hey, Anna. How are you? I'm Pamela."

The redhead struggled for something to say, she had never met a psychic. After a moment she realized she had to say something, "Hi."

The room grew silent to Poppie as she looked up from the place on the floor she had grown to like quite well to the concerned and terrifyingly angry face of Dean Winchester. It read, in no minced words, 'We will talk later, and don't you dare try to get out of it.'

 _ **Oh, joy.**_

"They stole something from me. Demon-y, I know. But they're just plastic. Good for business. Makes me look extra-psychic, don't you think?" Pamela took a moment to laugh at her own inside joke, "Now...how about you tell me what your deal is? Hmm? Don't you worry."

 _ **SPN**_

"I'm an Angel." Every one's eyes were wide as Anna proclaimed her memory restored. 

"Should we go upstairs where everyone would be more comfortable?" Anna asked, monotoned and poised. Sam, Dean, and Poppie shared a look with slacked jaws before nodding silently and filing out of the panic room like school children after an assembly. Poppie helped Pamela toward the stairs mostly for her own benefit since the psychic practically knew the way better than she did.

"Well, that was a plot twist, huh, kid?" Pamela couldn't quite let the joke reach her face, apprehensive to be so close to the very thing she had been trying to 'dick over.' Poppie nodded against the woman's shoulder, pulling comfort from her as she snuggled in slightly closer than necessary to climb the wooden stairs. "Hmmm, boy troubles. No, not _boy_ troubles. Poppie Ann Singer, are you serious?" Pamela didn't whisper but she chose her words carefully, "You are messing with forces you couldn't possibly begin to—" Then she stopped. She stopped and pulled away harshly as they reached the top of the stairs. The boys already in the library with Ruby and Anna.

"Pam?" Poppie asked as the look of the psychic's face contorted, heat in the young hunter's stomach churned with anxiety, "Pamela, what is it?"

"What are you doing, Pops? I've never felt this energy coming from you. It's… _angelic_." Pamela spat, "But… No, it's not quite that. Girl, this is way above me." And with that, she entered the library and left Poppie to crumble even more. She moved to sit at the chair of her father's desk, behind Dean and Sam, where she could almost feel safe.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not like the others." Anna paced as the rest of the room sat, apprehension oozing from them like sap from a tree.

"I don't find that very reassuring." Ruby interjected, Pamela in agreement.

"So... Castiel, Uriel, they're the ones that came for me?" She paused, "What did Castiel mean…"

Sam spoke up, "You know them?"

Dean cut him off, "What do you mean, what did he mean?"

Anna avoided his questioning and turned to Sam, "We were kind of in the same foxhole."

"So, what, were they like your bosses or something?" Dean squinted at what once was a squirrelly girl he had swept from the frying pan to the composed and self-assured thing in front of him.

Anna felt the sides of her lips turn up, "Try the other way around."

Dean felt himself swell with pride involuntarily, "Look at you."

"But now they want to kill you?" Pamela broke the moment, happily. What is it with these kids getting all wrapped up in Angel ass?

"Orders are orders. I'm sure I have a death sentence on my head." The newly discovered Angel felt the panic set it. "I disobeyed... which, for us, is about the worst thing you can do. I fell."

Dean stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, "Meaning?"

Pamela felt the answer leave her mouth before she knew it, "She fell to earth, became human."

"Wait a minute. I don't understand. So, angels can just become human?" Sam stood then, crossing closer to his brother.

Anna continued to explain as best she could, her eyes fell over the silent girl in the back. "It kind of hurts. Try cutting your kidney out with a butter knife. That kind of hurt. I ripped out my grace." She noticed something new about her in the instant.

Dean caught the angel staring at Poppie like she was seeing her for the first time and he didn't like it, "Come again?"

Anna broke her concentration and turned back toward the man, "My grace. It's...uh, it's energy. Hacked it out and fell. My mother, Amy, couldn't get pregnant. Always called me her little miracle. She had no idea how right she was."

Poppie spoke then, "So, what? You just _forgot_ that you were God's little Power Ranger?" Her voice was angry, maybe more so than she meant but she couldn't believe this. Angels were fucking everywhere. Her third-grade teacher could have been a freakin' Angel.

"The older I got, the longer I was human, yeah." Anna just shrugged.

Just then Ruby spoke from the doorway, "I don't think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are."

"Ruby's right. Heaven wants me dead." Anna stopped pacing and let her arms unwrap and fall to her sides.

Ruby also stood, "And Hell just wants her. A flesh-and-blood angel that you can question, torture, that bleeds." She turned the rest of the way to Anna, "Sister, you're the Stanley Cup. And sooner or later, Heaven or Hell, they're gonna find you." She fought to run out the door, she didn't want to fight in this war.

Anna smiled then, "I know. And that's why I'm gonna get it back. My grace."

Dean's voice jumped an octave with disbelief, "You can do that?"

Anna looked through them all, "If I can find it."

Dean took another step toward her waving his arms for emphasis, "So, what, you're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and, shazam, you're Roma Downey?"

Poppie wished she had a bong. Pamela chuckled compulsorily before clearing her throat and apologizing.

Anna raised her eyebrow but continued, "…Something like that."

"All right. I like this plan. So, where's this grace of yours?" Dean looked the mortal angel up and down.

She looked back at him with the same intensity, "Lost track. I was falling about 10,000 miles per hour at the time."

Sam cut in, "Wait. You mean falling, like, literally? Like the way a human eye can see? Like a comet, maybe, or a meteor?"

Anna nodded, "Why do you ask?


	8. Cowgirls Don't Cry

_**Chapter 8: Cowgirl's Don't Cry**_

 _ **Cowgirls don't cry, ride, baby, ride  
Lessons in life are gonna show you in time  
Soon enough you're gonna know why  
It's gonna hurt every now and then  
If you fall, get back on again  
Cowgirls don't cry**_

 _ **SPN**_

Poppie willed herself to disappear into the leather of her car's passenger seat. After Dean had returned from Pamela's house his demeanor was even more threatening. When Sam found the site of Anna's fall, he ordered Poppie into the passenger seat and threw the Impala keys to Sam. Probably the scariest thing he could do.

He stole glances at the girl from his perch behind the wheel as he drove. A well-worn nylon sling cradled her wounded arm where the hotel sheet had once bound. It was probably fine by now, but the girl had weird-ass bendy joints. _**Women.**_

He geared up for his onslaught and thought about what the psychic had told him about the two people he thought he knew better than anyone. Between the distracting sexual put-ons, that is. Man, if he could've shown her exactly what he was—Right. Back to the point.

"Pamela told me." Dean stopped and made a show of taking a deep breath and tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel angrily before he started again. "Pamela told me that you're sending off some 'angelic' energy shit and that you're getting wrapped up in some… some angel booty!" He felt himself raise his voice in frustration at even having to talk about this.

"Angel booty? Are you kidding me? First of all, Angels don't tend to do th-" He cut her off.

"Yeah, well. I'm noticing that Angels do a lot of things _Angels don't do_ lately and if you forgot Pamela is a _psychic_ , things don't have to have happened for her to know about it. I've said it once and I'll say it again and again until you two idiots get the picture. Monsters are not _sex_ buddies!" He angrily jerked at the radio knob until something decent played.

Poppie grunted. She knew she should agree wholeheartedly with what he was saying. Castiel was a creature not unlike all the ones she'd killed over the years. Maybe with a larger cult following, and a shinier reputation, but as they'd known for years; Lore isn't always accurate, and history is written by the victors.

His clenched teeth trying to withhold his anger but failing miserably as it continued to pour out in obscenities. "Damn it, Pops! Do you remember when our life was a ghost, a shapeshifter and _maybe_ a demon or two a _year_? We didn't even know vampires existed until like, two years ago!"

"Tell me about it. You and Sam have both died and _come back to life._ That kind of makes it hard to get a grasp on normalcy." She rolled her eyes as the scanned the flat midwestern landscape they passed. "Is this cornfield number 15 or 16?"

"It's 25." It calmed her knotted stomach that he still played their dumb road game even when he practically wanted to rip her throat out. "You fell asleep about an hour after we left. Haven't been doing that much lately, huh?" The Winchester felt the tension in this chest relax as he looked over at her again.

Since they were kids, she always had that effect on him. It distracted him long enough to really think about who he was talking to. She was Bobby Singer's daughter for crying out loud. How could she of all people get it on with a big bad? Like really, Sammy was one thing; Demon literally ran through his veins. Poppie had to have more sense than that.

"Dean. You _died_ and went to _hell_. You may not remember it, but we had our own version here on Earth trying to get you back. Then this whole thing started, and sleep has been the least of my concerns." She nervously twitched her thumb and tried to play it off as an annoyance. He didn't buy it.

"Yeah, and it has nothing to do with the fact that junkless seems to visit you a lot in your dreams? You can't lie to me, Pops. Not to me. Not you." His voice turned pleading and Poppie saw the momentary break in his tough mask.

"Fine, look. Maybe a small naïve school girl part of me gets the vapors thinking of having my own handsome guardian Angel. To me; That's a normal, if not the completely stupid reaction most girls have to _anything_ handsome and forbidden." He didn't like where this was going at all. "But. BIG but- I'm not a fucking idiot, jackass! And I know how to keep my legs closed when handsome and forbidden comes pulling you out of a date and gets you drunk on wine coolers." That dumb wide, smile could kill. She knew how to use it, too. His chest clenched as he felt the heat of his argument melt in its light.

"Not fair." Adjusting his hands on the steering wheel, he steeled himself for the million-dollar question. "So, what is going on with you and all this Angel shit anyway?"

What _was_ going on? She'd known Pamela almost her entire life and she didn't think she'd ever sensed this energy in her before. She definitely never looked at her with so much disdain. That it was a hard hit.

Her head rested against the cold glass of the Impala, "I've been normal my entire life," Pause, "Well, hunter normal, anyway. One hundred percent human- And Pamela should be able to confirm that." He gave her that, Pamela had mentioned it in her warning to him.

"All this is brand new and dad and I can't find a single lead. Castiel is my best chance at finding any answers, and for some reason, he's hiding me from the other angels. In the shed, he told me to stay down and be quiet. When he threw me, it was all for show."

Dean just didn't like this at all. What was happening to their family?

"I know it's hard to feel like you've lost your brother to the demons. You won't lose me to the Angels, I promise. I love you, Dean."

"Ugh, no. No love. Just don't be a dumbass, okay?" He whined, his voice cracking like a ten-year-old being held by his mother in public.

"You got it, jerkface." Her mind prematurely relaxed.

"And since you brought it up." She hadn't, "What did happen while I was down under that made Sammy leave? None of that _we all suffered_ bullshit."

It took her a long moment to speak, she kind of hoped he would forget he asked, and they just ride the rest of the way home in silence.

"Well?"

"He started trying to make deals. First, he was gone for an hour here or there. Then it got to the point where he'd only come home to pass out and shower before he was out looking again. I confronted him about it, and he let me know exactly why my opinion didn't matter. He was hurting and my dad and I were alive and you weren't."

 _ **SPN**_

"We still got the hex bags. I say we head back to the panic room." Dean paced the floor of the barn. He pushed his sleeves down, pulled them back up and crossed his arms over his chest before throwing them down against the table where Anna and Poppie sat together. The tree had been empty when they had arrived, and they returned to their safe house with very few options. Ruby scoffed.

"What, forever?"

Dean snapped, "I'm just thinking out loud!"

"Oh, you call that thinking?" Ruby quipped before crossing toward Dean, Sam stepped in front of her before intervening.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey. Stop it."

Ruby started at Sam and felt her arms shoot up in accusatory agitation, "Anna's grace is gone. You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight Heaven and Hell. One side _maybe_ , but not both. Not at once."

Anna cringed, her hand flying to wrap around Poppie's arm for stability, "Um... guys? The angels are talking again."

The words forced their way into her brain like an ice pick. Anna looked concerned when she almost doubled over, "It's weird... Like a recording... a loop. It says, 'Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or...'."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "Or what?"

Poppie didn't miss a beat, "...or we hurl him back to damnation."

The group shared a look and the graceless Angel stared at Poppie as she righted herself.

"Anna… Do you know of any weapon that works on an angel? To kill them?" Sam questioned, he wasn't losing his brother again, and he saw the way Castiel had looked at Poppie. It wasn't happening.

Anna stopped for a moment, then shook her head as she pulled her mind from the puzzling girl beside her. How did she know? What did Castiel mean? "Nothing we could get to... Not right now."

"Okay, wait, wait. I say we call Bobby. We get him back from hedonism." Dean was running out of ideas.

Sam felt like the world was crashing around him, "What's he gonna tell us that we don't already know?"

Poppie chimed in as the headache of the words finally dissipated, "I don't know, but we have got to think of something!"

 _ **SPN**_

Poppie sat alone in her three-bedroom, two-bath. The same grey walls stretched a little higher, the hardwood a little more-rich. Her fingers fought anxiously on a wooden dining room table, a large canvas chair housing her body. A small wooden frame hung from a single nail, it's photo paralyzing Poppie where she sat.

"I can't find you." Castiel said solemnly, "We need Anna."

"She's an Angel, and we aren't the same... So, what am I?" Her voice was even as she sat at the dining room table, her back to the Angel. She didn't move to turn; she didn't look away from the photo hanging on the wall in front of her. His muscles stiffened. The air was hot, humid and dripping with expectation.

"Poppie. I do not know what you are, but you are not a fallen Angel." Castiel took a step toward the table, but the floor seemed to grow from under him, hindering his approach.

"Why didn't you tell the other Angels about me? Would they want me dead if they knew?" Her voice remained even; her body unflinching.

"I do not know. I do not know why the idea of them knowing about you brings me… apprehension. I think if they knew what you could do, they'd want to know why. By any means necessary." As the words left his mouth, they wrapped him in freezing air.

"Like… dissection?" This time she whispered, fear of the answer pooled in her stomach, the ice-cold air climbed her back and stiffened her posture.

"Possibly." Castiel dared another step toward the woman at the table, and this time he was allowed passage. "You must tell me where you are. Anna must be taken, but they do not have to know about you. I will observe you and if I don't—"

"You'll observe me? Then what? If I turn into a threat, you'll _gank me_ , like Anna? I can't do anything without touching an Angel, and I don't anticipate Angels lining up to let me use them for evil." She stopped for a moment. "I mean, what am I going to do? Hug an Angel really tight and think mean things at them?" She turned in her seat to face him.

He finally closed the distance between them and place his hand on her shoulder, "You don't know what you're capable of. You can sense a part of Angels that shouldn't even exist. You can coerce them to disobey. If you honed your skills, you could tune into our communications from anywhere. You could identify Angels who were undercover." He watched her face contort from surprise to denial and then anger. His body felt heavy as her blue eyes captured his, her fingers pushed her hair out of her face with determination.

The blond shoved away from the table and launched herself up and into Castiel, his hand still on her arm, her shoulders squared to him, her face dangerously close to his. "Then do it, Cas! Kill me! Take me in for dissection! I'm not giving you An—"

His noncorporeal lips closed onto hers, his arms wrapped around her waist and pushed himself against her rounded breast. The surprise vacated her lungs until she was breathless, but she pulled desperately to bring him closer. Castiel felt his pent-up agitation, fear, and confusion melt into… happiness? There was a swell in his chest, an emotional satisfaction of finally finding something you didn't know you had been searching for.

"Please, Poppie. Give us Anna if only to keep yourself safe." His words tickled the hair next to her ear with wild desperation.

"Fine." She whispered back breathily as she studied the terror of his features, "This is where we are."

 _ **SPN**_

"I'm sorry." Castiel eyed Anna, her posture was straight and battle-ready. Her feet angled herself to him but created a protective barrier between Uriel and Poppie. He watched as Poppie studied Uriel with timid curiosity.

The dark pulsating light of Castiel's partner was stark in comparison to his own dazzling blue. It reminded Poppie of the night sky; Black with the bright specks of stars. Each one home to billions of life forms. It made it hard to look away, even as the fear of drawing attention to herself mounted.

"No. You're not. Not really. You don't know the feeling." Anna spoke matter-of-factly as she felt the pulsing of her grace from Uriel. Her eyes briefly took in his vessel; His shoulders were broad, and his suit was tailored. His skin was smooth chocolate and his expression was equally bored and wrathful.

Castiel knew she was right but struggled with his lack of understanding when it came to human emotion, "Still, we have a history. It's just—"

Anna nodded, "Orders are orders. I know. Just make it quick."

Suddenly the air around them turned stale, sulfur filled her lungs before the sight of a bleeding Ruby filled her with dread. The face of Alastair turned her stomach into hot lead, it's black and churning energy was strong and sickening. Two henchmen carried Ruby by the arms, her t-shirt soaked with blood, her face dripped with sweat.

Alastair spoke heartily as he broke the stunned silence caused by his entrance, "Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head."

Uriel sprung to life at the threat, "How dare you come in this room... you pussing sore?"

"Name-calling. That hurt my feelings... You sanctimonious, fanatical prick." Alastair motioned to his men and they released Ruby, Poppie ran to catch her before she hit the ground.

Castiel felt a fire erupt inside him, the adrenaline of battle, "Turn around and walk away now."

"Sure. Just give us the girl. We'll make sure she gets punished good and proper." The demon held himself proud as the might of Heaven looked down on him.

The young Winchester watched from the ground, Ruby leaning against her as the sweat continued to pour from her forehead. "You know who we are and what we will do. I won't say it again. Leave now... or we lay you to waste." Her eyes widened as she saw the light around Castiel, and Uriel grow. Its intensity matched by the churning faces of the demons.

Alastair chuckled, "Think I'll take my chances."

Anna ducked as Castiel grabbed the aforementioned demon by the collar of his vessel, his fingers connecting with the forehead of his opponent's vessel. Fear shook him to his core, the intensity of his fight diminished.

Alastair laughed as he pushed back, "Sorry, kiddo. Why don't you go run to daddy?" He overtook the confused Angel quickly, "Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferma, me confirma!"

Poppie leaped from her spot under Ruby. She moved without thought as she rushed full force into the demon. A hot tingling like a thousand fire ants engulfed her arms and when she connected with the demon, they were both sent flying in a thunderclap of lightning. Castiel, completely baffled, caught the girl and they still hit the back wall. His body slid down into a sitting position, her own fell limply against him.

Uriel, who had been smiting demons, felt his attention laser-focused on the pile of Angel and human whore. He was about to ask what the hell had happened when Anna took the moment to lunge for the silver poking from beneath his collar. "No!" He bellowed, as she steadied herself and shattered the vile against the dirt floor.

"Shut your eyes. Shut your eyes! Shut your eyes!" Anna screamed as the most beautiful energy Poppie had ever seen grew and intertwined and enveloped the newly rekindled Angel. Something hard and warm pulled Poppie's face away from the growing light and held her there.

 _ **You set us up.**_

 _ **I'm sorry Cas. I couldn't just let you have Anna.**_

 _ **I put myself in danger, I disobeyed to help you, to keep you safe. And you… you humans…**_

 _ **Cas, I'm sorry.**_

The presence that held her tightly and protected her from the flash of Anna's grace was gone. She found herself alone on the floor of the barn as she sat herself up and saw Dean, Sam and Ruby also orient themselves. Her eyes searched for Anna, but she and all the demons were gone.

"Well, what are you guys waiting for? Go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared." Dean stood and shook at the Angels.

Uriel seethed, "What in Heaven's name did that human-bitch pull? I thought I smelled something on her. This isn't over." But as he leaned toward the girl, still pushed against the wall, Castiel pushed him back.

Dean beamed, "Oh, it looks over to me, junk-less."

They disappeared.

Sam wrapped his hands around Ruby's shoulder, looking her up and down, "You guys okay?"

Ruby sucked in a breath as she twisted to sit down on the table in front of her, "Not so much."

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was, Thor? Even without the broken arm—Why isn't your arm broken?"

Poppie had pulled her arm through the loops of her sling and brought her hand in front of her face to bend her fingers. "He… Castiel must have healed me."

"He what? When?" Dean grabbed her arm and felt along where it had been ripped from its socket.

"When I hulked out, he caught me and shielded me from Anna's grace. I guess he healed me, too."

Dean grumbled and turned to his brother, "I got to hand it to you, Sammy. Bringing them all together all at once - angels and demons. It was a damn good plan."

Sam brushed his shirt off, shaking away the apprehension that Poppie's newfound ability filled him with, "Yeah, well, when you got Godzilla and Mothra on your ass, best to get out of their way and let them fight."

 _ **SPN**_

It didn't take long for the boys to throw Poppie back home. She rested her exhausted muscles against the splintered railing of her back porch, draped in a large fleece sweatshirt from her Father's closet.

The night sky topped the peaceful salvage yard, the darkness an eerie reminder of Uriel, each star a pinprick of Castiel's light. She flipped the ends of her freshly washed hair into a bun on top of her head.

"Cas?" Her voice was soft, "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I couldn't stand by as Anna was put to death for wanting to be normal. I don't expect you to forgive me, but please don't blame yourself for doing the same for me. I am grateful, I promise." The chirping of crickets relaxed the hunter, the events of the day falling on her with harsh reality. "You saved my life today… and thank you for healing me."

"It is my job. I'm your guardian angel." He stood behind the cause of his internal warfare. His eyes involuntarily tracing the outlines of her body. He stopped when the tight cotton of her pants met the contour of her waist under the over-sized piece of fabric covering her. "You pushed a very powerful demon across the room like he weighed nothing."

Poppie jumped and faced at the unexpected arrival of her Knight in a raggedy trench coat. "I don't know what the hell that was. I don't know what the hell any of this is. Cas, I-"

"Dean had deep feelings for Anna. They manifested physically. I do not blame you for wanting to protect her."

Then shook her head at his words, "Physically manifested…?" Her eyes widened. Then narrowed pointedly. "They had sex?! Oh, what a hypocrite! Talk about getting wrapped up in Angel booty!" Her cheeks turned red as she realized what she had said, "Sorry."

"It isn't right for me to visit you like this. It isn't necessary for me to uphold your protection." He searched for words to explain that he couldn't do this, he couldn't be trusted. His vessel pulled toward the hunter with an unseen force. She felt her sock covered feet move toward him, her hand reaching out to wrap around his, her thumb brushing the back of his hand.

 _ **Then why did you come?**_

 _ **I couldn't stay away.**_

Castiel pulled his hand back to get away, but Poppie didn't let go. His force pulled her body into his clumsily, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

 _ **Poppie, I can't—**_

Her lips brushed his and the thought was replaced with feeling. Pure, human emotion. He pushed into her and lost track of which emotions were hers. Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her hands snaking up his body and around his neck. The energy pulsing between them tickled her lips and caused her body to relax into his even further.

 _ **Cas, I need to get closer.**_

She pleaded, and soon his coat was gone. Castiel flipped their positions and found himself pinning her against the door frame of the house. Her chest pushed desperately against his as their lips continued to touch. It could have been days, but it was only a few seconds before Poppie felt the cold breeze sweep over the hot places once caressed by her Angel. Her eyes fluttered open to look over the calm salvage yard.

"Goodnight, Cas."


	9. Goodbyes

_**Chapter Nine: Goodbyes**_

 _ **We're both actin' insane but too stubborn to change  
Now I'm drinkin' again, 80 proof in my veins  
And my fingertip stained, looking over the edge  
Don't fuck with me tonight  
Say you needed this heart and you got it (got it)  
Turns out that it wasn't what you wanted (wanted)  
And we wouldn't let go and we lost it (lost it)  
Now I'm a goner**_

 _ **I want you out of my head (head)  
I want you out of my bedroom tonight (bedroom)  
There's no way I can save you (save you)  
'Cause I need to be saved, too (saved, too)  
I'm no good at goodbyes**_

 _ **SPN**_

 _ **Late November 2008**_

Poppie's bare legs itched against the little pokes of gravel underneath her. The sun had started to rise quietly over the yard, and she took a second from the car she was working on to sit down and enjoy it. Her back rested against the dirt of a worn-down tire; housed in a wheel well replaced to throw off forensics.

Her blue eyes stared over the sun as it continued to flood the yard with bright and melting pinks and oranges. Playing with the idea of being a normal mechanic, she contemplated the beer she had snaked from their outside fridge. With great failure, the tall woman tried to fight the ever-present voice telling her she wasn't good enough, that she never was and never will be a good person. It sprinkled in new insecurities lately; You're not human. You betrayed Castiel. You don't deserve his trust. They're just waiting until you're not expecting it to kill you. You can't be allowed to live, you're a monster. Just like all the ones you've killed. Some just as scared and far more innocent than you.

Jumping at the sound of her watch beeping, she watched as six flashed across its screen. This was hour twelve outside, and the small swell of pride in her chest was replaced by the relief of making it another night without dreams.

"Girl, what are you doing out here so early, and what are you wearing?" Bobby rasped as he exited the house in thick flannel and vest.

"This was practically a full engine reassembly. I'm burning up." She avoided his first question knowing he wouldn't approve of her sleeping arrangements or lack there-of. Time was ticking languidly into December and while a snowstorm was in the forecast, working in denim shorts and an oil-stained long sleeve t-shirt had her dripping with sweat.

"Was? Are you done with that already? It just came in yesterday." He narrowed his eyes and inspected the work his progeny had completed. She tossed him the keys as he entered the cab and turned over the engine. A steady purr came from under the propped hood and Bobby nodded in appreciation. "Good job, girl. You call Garth after breakfast and have him come pick it up. Vin removed?"

"Vin filed extra license plates in the back and a few cans of auto paint for emergencies. This puppy should keep Garth going for a year at least." She stood and knocked the loose gravel from where it stuck and adjusted her shirt. "I'll call him in a few. Powdered eggs and microwave bacon?"

"Already done and sitting on the table. You deserve it." He winked and trailed in behind her after turning the car off. "Huh, with efficiency like this, think about where we'd be if we actually charged our customers." Bobby scoffed before closing the doors and locking them behind him.

"No shit." She nodded as she leaned against the hood, finishing her morning beer.

"So, we gonna talk about what happened with Alastair? Or are you gonna keep pretending you didn't suplex one a Hell's best?" Bobby studied his daughter; the same white-blond hair framed her familiar, piercing eyes. They still held onto that mysterious blue that the doctors had insisted would change before her second birthday. If he was a better man, he wouldn't have thought so long over the years about whether they were blood. Karen was a good woman, but everyone had their demons.

He'd let her have her time to process, but he was scared shitless. He hadn't believed Dean at first, but the look in the boy's eye was undeniable.

"Dad, I don't even know. I was pissed, I ran toward him without thinking. Then my arms felt like they were covered in bees and when I connected with him, both of us went flying. I haven't been able to do anything like that since." She thought so hard over that last one because how awesome would that be on hunts? Yeah, she was freaking out and slowly going crazy, but any competitive edge in the field was a win. If she had to be some Angel magic freak, at least it could serve her some use. Sam got psychic visions, telekinesis and the ability to expel demons with his mind.

Her father wasn't comforted by her side of the story. What were they getting into?

God help me, Karen.

 **SPN**

Frozen ice-filled winds wrapped him in an arctic cocoon but still his body seared from the touch of her hands on his hip. Her kisses still trailed down his neck, a path to Hell in the form of ecstasy. He couldn't do it.

 **You will fall.**

He recognized the voice that reached him even in the farthest reaches of the frozen desert. Anna.

 **No. I will not lower myself to your level. I am a servant of God. He answered back with cold righteousness. His words were of little merit to the Angel he sent them to and lacked the conviction of his younger days.**

And where is God?

After she propelled the question into the haze of his mind, her presence was gone. Replaced by solitude and silence despite the roaring winds of the tundra. Where was God? No. He couldn't think like that, he must stay loyal.

He dropped to his knees and prayed like a man seeking salvation.

Father? Are you there? Please. I need guidance. What are these feelings? Is it my vessel? Are these unholy desires mine?

Silence. Painful silence.

 **SPN**

Bobby stared out into nothing as he felt the stabbing pain of his splintered heart. Dean had just called to say they were on the way to Sioux Falls with Pamela's body. Overcome with devastation for his long-time friend, guilt riddled his aching muscles for bringing her into this in the first place.

"Daddy! I'm home!" Poppie skipped into the library but stopped short at the sight of tears slipping down her father's face. "What happened?"

"It's Pamela. She got, got. They're on the way to give her a hunter's funeral." He didn't look up; he couldn't stand to see her face fall. Arms wrapped gingerly around his neck and he relaxed into her embrace. Thank God, or whoever, for his little girl. After a long, silent while, she withdrew and took the path to her bedroom like a dead woman walking.

Poppie snuggled up under her tattered quilt and couldn't hold back as the prayers screamed from her suffering mind.

"What's wrong?" Castiel heard the sobs of his charge through the fabric of reality. They folded into the weave of his own misery like an old friend.

"Don't you already know? Pamela is dead," Air pushed painfully past her raw lips while eyes focused on a spot on the carpet next to a pair of impossibly perfect dress shoes. "You know, the one you mutilated? She was family."

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss. I have lost a great deal of family this week." His eyes followed hers to the little discolored spot next to him. He wondered what was so interesting about years old dried wine.

Her lips pursed, and she paused a moment before answering, "I'm sorry, Castiel." Her mind went over every person she'd lost, and she shook loose a sense of entitlement to empathize with the angel.

"Indeed." He squinted nervously without a clue how to respond. "Is there something I can do?"

Poppie was miserable. The words left her mouth on autopilot. "Can you bring her back?"

"No." He wished he could, if only to amend for his guilt in her death.

"I didn't think so." She pushed out, sobs erupting from her core with the force of a hurricane. The hurt filled her heart and left it an empty sore in her gaping chest, only vented through her cries. She knew it was ugly and dramatic. "Pamela is dead because of us. We did this. She warned me this would happen if I didn't run for the hills." Poppie's eyes refocused on her desk, her eyes focused on her mother's photo.

"Poppie, it is not your fault this woman is dead. She is in a better place. Her Heaven is full of music and… copulation." He struggled with the word and with his refusal to step closer to the woman deteriorating in front of him. Could he trust himself to remain chaste? Would she feel his shame in his touch? He took a small step toward her, longing to entwine her in his embrace.

She turned her shoulders to look over his form. He was tense, his face full of conflict. Castiel slowly took another step toward her, struggling against his firm decision to keep his distance. She looked so small, her glow was extinguished and replaced with the burden of death. "Where did you go?"

"What?" He truly hadn't heard the words leave her as his thoughts fought each other.

Her response was still soft and uncertain, but she grew louder with each word, "Where did you go when you left me that day?"

"I believe the US calls it Antarctica." He watched as a glint of humor now returned to her features.

"What?" The disbelief sparked through the pain.

"It's a large snowy continent on the south pole."

"No. I know what it is… Why did you go there?" Then she laughed. A small, rasping but joyful laugh. The feeling of giving her even a small relief swelled in his chest like pride.

"I go there a lot after seeing you. You make my vessel hot." He continued to explain, his eyes flitting to the floor as her stare became too much.

"You make my vessel hot, too, Castiel."

"You do not have a vessel."

"Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Would you hold me?" Her eyes reached his as quickly as her words. He stopped dead in his spot in her room, painfully aware of their privacy. Her eyes held hope, fear, and pain for her lost comrade. He willed himself to fly away, to retreat to his Haven or home to Heaven. But his body didn't move. His wings didn't unfurl.

"Okay." He stood there awkwardly a moment more, unsure of how to proceed. Hope-filled in behind her eyes before she stood up and met him with an enthusiastic hug. Her arms pushed inside his trench coat and his arms reluctantly found their way around her. His head rested on the top of her head. Rosemary and lemons filled his nose and his fingers sat awkwardly stiff against the back of her shirt and dared not move for fear of touching her bare skin.

"Thank you for being here, Castiel. I don't know what I am, or what we are, but I have enjoyed our time together. As complicated as it is." She nestled her tear-stained face deeper into his chest, the heartbeat of his vessel indulged her with every thump against her cheek. It sped quickly, and she wondered if it were a side effect of Angel possession or their proximity. She felt like he would rip away into Antarctica if she moved too quickly, like a scared barn cat.

Her body filled with hot discomfort, nervousness, guilt and reluctance. It was a foreign feeling, not unlike the unsettling intrusion of a needle and its contents into the blood stream. Poppie wanted to shrink back, to withdraw from the alien emotion in her already overwhelmed heart, but a small hidden glimmer kept her close. Closer even, to revel in its warmth and comfort.

"It is… complicated." He didn't say anything more, fear of it all pouring out mounting like the risks themselves. She felt his heat against her, his arms holding her securely as she memorized every curve and touch. The rhythm of his breathing.

"Can we ever… Can we ever be something?" She looked up finally, hope in her voice. She knew the answer but wanted so urgently for it to be different. Poppie would never ask him to disobey. But she wanted to.

"No."

 **SPN**

The scalding water of the shower flowed over her as red splotches itched and burned under its rapid attack. Her legs locked as she leaned against the shower wall and watched as her stomach and breasts jiggled under the onslaught of steaming water; Numb and burning from its repetition. Her fingers turned the hot metal of the shower knob reluctantly as she slid open the glass door and reentered the cold and empty house.

It had only been a few hours after Pamela's funeral that Dean and Sam left again. Her father had left earlier to assist Garth with a hunt. His way of throwing himself into his work to forget. Her heart was empty. Her head was full of confusion and fear and loneliness. Pamela had warned her and now the psychic's blood dripped from her hands.

The thunder of her cell phone pulled her from her self-deprecation, the frantic voice on the other end sent her into a frenzy, "Poppie?! Are you okay? Have you seen Castiel? Have you seen Dean?!" His voice was urgent and afraid. Poppie threw her t-shirt on over her wet hair, apprehension growing.

"No, what's happened?" She asked.

 **SPN**

Anna paced the floor of the dark warehouse. The screams of Alastair echoed between its moldy walls. "Why are you letting Dean do this?" She still felt the jitter of anxiety, even though the power of her grace morphed her human body into that of an unoccupied vessel. Lifeless, a husk, but the memories of her life on Earth coursed through her like the human blood she'd once had.

"He's doing God's work," Castiel reassured. Why did she even ask? Was the answer ever different?

Predictable or not, it still fueled a fire inside her that thrust her body toward the other angel, hostility building, "Torturing? That's God's work? Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have."

He let out a cautionary growl, "Who are we to question the will of God?" This Fallen would not chip away at the last bit of resolve he'd managed to salvage. He had wondered, though, what she knew about his interactions with the human woman. Would she tell the others to lessen her sentence?

The aforementioned fallen looked her former subordinate over, sympathy replacing her frustration. There were changes in him since she'd last fought beside him. A subtle turn to his body, slightly away from the task at hand, as if ready to fly away at a moment's notice. The far off look in his normally stone-cold expression with a touch more of his personal brand of internal torture raging behind them. "Unless this isn't his will?"

"Then where do the orders come from?"

A sigh escaped her weary body, "I don't know. One of our superiors, maybe, but not him. You can't ignore your feelings, nor should you. God is gone Castiel." She let the phrase echo in the warehouse, almost testing the theory, before continuing, "It's time to think for yourself. These orders are wrong, and you know it. But you can do the right thing. You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can still—" Her fingers reached out to him. She smiled as his face contorted to consider her words.

But quickly, he stopped, "Together?" His hand ripped from where hers rested, "I am nothing like you. You fell. Go."

Anna flinched, "Cas. At least don't take this out on that poor girl. You know Uriel is there telling them now, what do you think they'll do to her or you for hiding it? She needs you and you need her."

"Go."

 **SPN**

Poppie sped to the address Sam had prattled off to her in his crazed state. Her thoughts raced over the information Sam had left her with. Castiel had shown up and demanded Dean torture Alastair for information and when he'd flat-out refused, Cas had taken him anyway.

Her heart twisted in knots as she sped through the night. She arrived at the quiet motel and approached room 13 to a slightly ajar door. Her fingers pushed lightly against the wood; her other hand draped actively against the firearm in her waistband. The room was dark, but her eyes adjusted just in time to see Ruby jerk away from the bed. Sam's shirt unbuttoned and the demon's hair disheveled.

Poppie pulled her hand away from her gun and sighed, " _Was_ a lot of sex, Sam? Feelings will _pass_. Uh-huh." His face was red, his breathing jagged and she watched him lift his arm to wipe his mouth.

"Uh, yeah. You caught me." He looked over at Ruby, who pulled the collar of her jacket over a heavy drop of red before the blond could see it in the darkened room. "Let's find Dean."

The demon still had her stomach-churning, but their time together with Anna had gotten her a little more acclimated to the pulsating energy. Poppie flipped the switch on the lamp resting on the table Ruby gestured to.

"I tried a spell and limited our search to the warehouse district, but there's about 20 in the immediate area." She studied the map but wasn't sure what she thought she would find. A "Your brother was taken here!" sticker? "We're hoping your weird Angel powers will lead us strai—"

"You told her about my weir- my angel thing?" Poppie turned to Sam, her trepidation mounted. What if she told more demons? Did the demons already know? Is that why she had been possessed?

"Actually, Pops. She told me. You're going for a high price in hell right now. Dean and I were coming back for you when Castiel showed up. He must have stuck to his guns and not come after you, too. Dean told him the demons knew and his eyes practically bugged out of his head." Sam packed his ammo and laced a gun and three knives onto his person. The jolt of demon blood hit his system and he started to shake, holding hard to hide it from the woman who had watched him grow up. His vision improved and his hearing ignited into a new world of sounds previously unheard. Then the smell hit him. It was fresh like berries and warm vanilla. It smelled like the most delicious dessert he could imagine.

"Was it just Castiel?" Poppie knew the answer. She knew her life was over; the demons of hell and the Angels of heaven would be hunting her down. She couldn't win, they'd gotten lucky once. What had Sam said? Godzilla versus Mothra?

The heat grew in his stomach and the drool pooled into his mouth. When he turned to answer her, his nose twitched, and an inexplicable expression contorted his features. Before she could read it, Sam was on top of her, his nose buried into her neck and her back pressed sharply against the motel wall. "Sam!" Her arms struggled to push him back, but he was stronger than she was used to. "Sam! What are you doing?!" Her voice rose in panic as his rough grip constricted around her arms, she felt hot humidity on her neck replaced quickly with a freezing wetness. A putrid scent of sulfur filled her lungs. "Sam!"

Ruby stepped in and pulled harshly on his arm, "Yeah, okay. She smells good Sam. Get over it!" She managed to rip the sasquatch from the cowering girl. A flash back to Dean's absence sobered her racing mind. His own fog cleared at the image of her standing there. Her neck glistened where he licked her.

 **I licked her. Oh, God.**

"Let's go get Dean!" She chirped before running into the back seat of the Impala. They would figure this out, but there were more important things right now.

 **SPN**

Dean dripped red as Alastair held his limp figure by the collar of his flannel shirt and threw punch after punch. His face contorted into smiles and snarls as the satisfaction of winning and the delightful pain of torture ran through him, "You got a lot to learn, boy. So, I'll see you back in class bright and early Monday morning."

Before he delivered the final and devastating blow, Castiel charged toward him with Ruby's knife. The big shot demon dropped Dean, almost lifeless, to the floor to focus on the angel's attack. The demon knife sank into his heart, the sick squelch of human flesh-tearing underneath its blade. Castiel held firmly as flashes of dim gold emanated from the wound but frowned when they stopped.

Alastair's smirk widened, "Well, almost. Looks like God is on my side today."

Castiel lifted his hand and willed the knife to turn. Dean's aggressor grunted and wrapped his fingers slowly around the hilt, pulling it quickly out of him before charging the Angel. Punches flew as the two exchanged blows, Alastair eventually pinning Castiel to the wall.

"Well, like roaches, you celestials. Now, I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to heaven." His lips wrapped around the words as he chanted them, the blue light of Castiel's grace lightened around his form.

Poppie wrenched in the lobby of the dark warehouse. Ruby grabbed her and yelled for Sam to keep going. "Castiel. There's something wrong." Her arms wrapped around her stomach tightened as she fought to straighten herself. Suddenly the air rushed back into her lungs and she tore into the room in time to see Castiel lying on the floor near a bloody Dean. Sam's hand raised to the man standing there. No, demon.

Alastair eyed the woman with interest before turning back to Sam, little faith in his ability to do any lasting harm, "Stupid pet tricks."

Sam's face was cold. Poppie withdrew further into herself when his voice touched her, dark with adrenaline and anger, "Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?"

"You think I'm gonna tell you?" He spat.

Sam warned, "Yeah, I do," as he twisted his hand in the air just like Castiel only a moment before. Alastair's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he began to choke. Poppie stood still as she watched Sam fight the demon without touching him. "How are the demons killing angels?" He demanded again.

Alastair sputtered defiantly, "I don't know."

Sam continued to fight, "Right."

He gasped at his final attempts to overpower the demon fueled hunter, "It's not us. We're not doing it. Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand."

Sam stopped at his words and Alastair misread his hesitation, "Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can."

Poppie watched in fascinated horror as Sam's demeanor changed. His shoulders broadened, and a sense of sick pride beamed from his every pore, "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill."

 **SPN**

Dean's chest lifted and fell. Lifted and fell. No sign of his state improving, no sign of it worsening. The mental image of Alastair's black smoke regurgitating out onto the chamber floor with sick agitation repeated in her mind. Sam begged her not to tell Dean, but the permanent chill from his tongue on her neck filled her with dread. Dread at the idea of Dean never waking up again and the dread of facing him once he does.

Poppie felt the air move in the doorway and without looking, she motioned for Sam to stay in his seat next to the bed. Her legs shook beneath her as she walked out of the room and into the hallway. Her eyes still refusing to meet his.

"Poppie—"

"Can you fix him?"

"I can't." He desperately willed her to look at him, to validate his suffering as only she could.

"Are… are the Angels coming after me?" Her voice broke as she memorized the hallway tile patterns. Each white tile housed a thousand little brown flecks, she named them and wondered how many hunters came through with this story or that?

He took a step to place a stiff hand on her arm, "No."

"What happened?" She pulled back but not out of his grasp. Her red rimmed and conspicuously dry eyes finally met his and he felt a wall break inside himself. A hot spring filled his stomach and made them both hot as it melted and curled into their toes. It rose from him and reddened her cheeks with its intensity.

 **I don't know what happened. The devil's trap...it shouldn't have broken.**

 **Alastair is right, demons would've wiped out heaven if they had the power.**

 **Perhaps Alastair was lying.**

Poppie sent the horrid images of Sam's actions through their link and Castiel sent back the full typhoon of his new-found emotion. It overwhelmed her as air caught in her mouth but refused to enter her lungs. Her face was still red, her body scorching when their lips finally met. His hot breath, the only her body could accept. She was aware of a sudden rush around her when her stomach lurched, and she pulled away from Castiel.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, they were in a large shadowed room. Intricate carvings led her eyes up the tall walls and onto the paintings of the ceiling. Skylights are shown black skies full of stars, "Where are we?" She looked to her Angel as he closed the distance between them once more. Her arms were around his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair as they explored each other. His hands rubbed under her shirt, Dean's blood evaporating under his touch.

Their kiss finally ended, "We're in a building outside of the Vatican."

"Italy?! What if Dean dies and I'm in Italy kissing the man who signed his death warrant?! Is this a church?" She pulled hard from his grasp, the reality of her offensive feelings betraying her stomach.

"It's a museum. I wanted to show you something. I got… carried away. It is 2 am here, so we shall not be interrupted." Poppie eyed religious exhibits as she followed behind him; A timeline of theology that, until her own implications into the story, she assumed had been a myth.

"It's all true then? Adam and Eve, Cain and Able? God?" She asked, but Castiel didn't look at her as he continued to pull her through to a large painting. She felt the air leave her lungs once more as her eyes focused on a breath-taking image of a man with large white wings painted in almost a thousand-year-old oils. His face wasn't of Jimmy Novak but Poppie knew who it was.

"Yes. The first time I visited humanity. I was tasked with guarding a painter. Michelangelo." He studied the painting with a new perception. He felt confident, almost pride at the remembrance of his first successful mission among humans. "My vessel was a local holy man. I kept him safe and protected until he began his work on the Sistine Chapel."

"You knew Michelangelo?" Her eyes never left the painting, the style so familiar but the painting never before seen.

"He isn't the point. I wanted to show you that I've roamed the Earth, among humans, for thousands of years. I've existed since the dawn of creation. I watched as man evolved from caves to skyscrapers and you… Poppie." He pulled her chin toward him, his eyes and emotion boring into her. "Poppie Singer, you are the most incredible thing I have ever seen. I must protect you from everything. Even me."

Her eyes widened at his intensity, his grip on her chin gentle yet unmoving. But as she went to ask him what he meant, she blinked against the bright light of the hospital room.

Sam was asleep against Dean's bed railing, Dean jumped as she appeared beside him.

 **SPN**

"Anna. Anna, please." Castiel called to her from an empty street outside the museum. His body, still hot from his last interaction, but his heartbroken.

The streetlight above him flickered. He looked up and turned to face her in the middle of the dark road. Her face was unreadable next to his frantic expression.

Anna snickered, "Decided to kill me after all?"

He let his brokenness lead his decisions, "I'm alone. I must protect her."

"What do you want from me, Castiel?" Anna was short.

"I'm considering disobedience." The redhead nodded at his confession, surprise the furthest thing from how she was feeling.

"Good."

His heart lurched again, and he felt himself closer to breaking than ever before, "No, it isn't. For the first time, I feel..."

Anna stopped him, "It gets worse. Choosing your own course of action is confusing, terrifying, and it won't get easier to protect the girl. Soon all of Heaven and Hell will befall her and Sam. There's nothing we can do."

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked down at it and felt the cold contrast between this Angel and his human; she dropped it.

"That's right. You're too good for my help. I'm just trash. A walking blasphemy." She turned to walk away.

"Anna." Her footfalls stopped at his words, "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do."

"Like the old days? No. I'm sorry. It's time to think for yourself."


End file.
